Into the Face of the Beguiled
by tatterdemalion
Summary: AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.
1. Introduction

**Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Canada; more to come

**Rating: **M for mature because c'mon. It's a goddamned brothel.

**Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out. Pairings include France/England, Prussia/Canada, America/Lithuania, Estonia/Ukraine, Korea/China, and others!

**Notes:** So...I'm back. With none of the stories I said I was going to do! It's great.

Funny story - I was watching American Dad (I know, WTF?), and it was the episode where Stan wants to prove he can give good advice so he tries to make all these strippers "successful businesswomen" so he keeps them in his son's bedroom, and the alien Roger is wearing this "Madam" dress and commanding the strippers and I was like "wow France would look good in that dress" and then the idea wouldn't leave me alone. D:

So...yeah, it's brothel time. Feedback would be great, I'm a little unsure if I should post this or not...

The title comes from the song "Peek-a-Boo" by Siouxsie & the Banshees. I really recommend you listen to it - not only is it a great song, but it's my music accompaniment when writing!

* * *

Once upon a time, there were two little boys.

Matthew thought that was how the stories went, anyways.

Two little boys were born - one ahead of the other, by two years. Their parents died, they think. That was really the only explanation they could think of because, as the elder pointed out, what parents would abandon their flesh and blood unless something terrible happened? Together they lived in a parish, under the mindful watch of a priest, in Upper Canada, until Matthew was eleven, his brother thirteen.

Then they left their priest, and their parish behind, and travelled east until they couldn't anymore. They lived for a while in a fishing village, getting by day to day, stealing from the fishermen, fixing up a rowboat to do their own meager fishing.

One day a fishermen caught them pilfering from his dried fish store and nearly blew off Alfred's fingers with his musket. The two brothers fled and stowed away on a ship. They were found by the captain, who took an interest in the eldest brother and allowed them passage in exchange for hard work and company. He taught Alfred how to chart the stars and how to tell where they are when the clouds hang around the sun, and which blood sky is better for them. In the meantime, the galley cook taught Matthew how to make something out of nothing, how to see the potential in the most meager of food supplies, and how to make it last.

They reached Europe, crown jewel of the globe. Alfred envisioned them becoming wealthy men - Matthew just wanted to have dry socks, for once. The captain asked them to stay with him but they slipped away in the night.

They were getting good at this, they learned.

They continued this streak of living off whoever they can find, scavenging, pick pocketing, and scamming, up until Matthew was nineteen years old, his brother twenty-one. Then in Valetta they were caught and tried as thieves after Alfred tried to rob the rector they were staying with (Alfred always had this effect on people, a natural charm that enabled him to convince people into helping him. In this regard, Matthew always considered him the hero of their particular, mediocre fairytale. Matthew himself was merely the sidekick).

They escaped - Matthew didn't want to remember how they did but it was the first time he had ever killed a man and he wanted it to be the last. They snuck aboard the _Juncta Juvant_ with blood still on their hands, and wiped them clean on burlap sacks in the hold. Matthew smelled iron under his nails for weeks afterwards.

They listened and waited and eventually they heard, from above deck, where they were going - Amsterdam, the port city, and Alfred's eyes lit up.

He had always wanted to wear clogs.

Matthew didn't like fairytales anymore - he never did, not even when he was little, mostly because the parish priest read to him from the Bible instead of from Grimm's - but he didn't like them anyways because they gave him too much hope.

Alfred and Matthew Jones arrived in Amsterdam on the afternoon of July 5th, 1893. A few years prior to this, the _Moulin Rouge _ opened in Paris. The cabaret and burlesque entertainment style spread, steadily, across Europe. A Frenchman opened up a business a year after that in order to "spread his influence". Around this time, an Englishman was declared clinically insane but was still allowed to keep his star charts before he fled his home.

The Englishman considered this a great mercy.

* * *

_END INTRODUCTION_

* * *

**Notes:** "_Juncta Juvant_" is the Latin phrase for "together we thrive".


	2. Amsterdam

**Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled, Chapter One

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Canada, Seychelles, Prussia, South Italy, France, and North Italy; more to come

**Rating:** M for mature because c'mon. It's a goddamned brothel.

**Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out. Pairings include France/England, Prussia/Canada, America/Lithuania, Estonia/Ukraine, Korea/China, and others!

**Note:** Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

"Today is going to be a good day!" Alfred Jones chirped, swinging his arms and taking large strides across the dock. His brother, Matthew Jones, struggled to keep up and to not roll his eyes. Matthew thought his brother was only saying that because he could feel the sun on his face.

In reality, they had just set foot on land for the first time in who knows when, in an unfamiliar city, with no money and no possessions save for Alfred's rucksack. The bag contained two shirts, one for each of them; a pair of brown leather shoes that were a little too big for Alfred and a little too small for Matthew; their crosses, made of heavy, semi-precious metal in case they needed to barter; thirty one pilfered earrings, wrapped in a handkerchief; a small chart map, used only once when Alfred had practiced his rough skills in an attempt to estimate their journey; and a small stuffed bear made out of white rags which a native women, who had taken care of them when they were babies, had made for Matthew when he was five.

"Spirit bear." she had told him, placing it in his chubby hands. "Will protect you and your brother."

The bear was a little worn and ratty and stained now, but Matthew had refused to leave it behind.

"What do you think, Matt?" Alfred asked him as they pushed their way into the throng of people, moving steadily away from the ships, towards the heart of the city. "Panhandle or try to find a job first?"

Matthew shushed him when they earned a few odd looks from around them. "Al, not so loud!" he warned. "I don't want there to be a repeat of Valetta!"

Alfred brushed his concern off. "No problem, no problem!" he trilled. "That was a fluke, Matt. I've got a good feeling about this city!"

That was what Alfred Jones always said when they arrived in a new place. More often than not, his feeling was wrong.

Amsterdam was bustling, a busy, industrial city with a flourishing industry. The brothers have been in busy ports, but nothing like this. Alfred's eyes lingered on the women and their fancy horn skirts; Matthew looked up in order to see the majestic Golden Age buildings stretching above their heads. They stopped outside the market street in order to fix each other's hair, brush off their trousers, spit-rub dirt off cheeks. Alfred rolled his shoulders back, flashing Matthew a million-dollar smile.

"Ready?" he asked. Matthew nodded.

Turns out, it was harder than it looked - they zig-zagged in and out of stores, always asking the same thing: _is there any work, anything they can do, any room to spare, any money to earn?_

The answer was always no. They were turned away at nearly every shop, rudely dismissed by others. By the time the sun started setting in the west the brothers were still tired, still hungry, still jobless, and still homeless. Their exploration had taken them into the old part of town, and at first Alfred was confused.

"Did we go back to the docks?" he asked Matthew, motioning to all the sailors that surrounded them. Matthew shrugged, too grumpy to care where they were anymore.

They passed by an old, grand building with architecture from several centuries ago, looking out of place and rather odd among the more modern shops and apartment buildings. The bright, shiny letters that hung above the door read _Enjôler_, and there was a pretty pigtailed brunette taking tickets from a group of men standing outside, dressed in their finest ditto suits. Alfred tried once more to ask around for a place to stay - the men brushed him off, muttering under their breath and looking embarrassed. After each gave the girl their ticket they squeezed by her in an attempt to escape from the blonde's questions. The little brunette frowned.

"Don't scare away our customers." she scolded before disappearing herself past the theatre doors, which shut with a resounding bang.

Alfred, with a noise of frustration, plopped himself down on he curb, rucksack clutched in his hands. After a minute of standing, helplessly searching the faces in the crowd for a glimmer of sympathy, Matthew joined his brother.

"Don't worry, Matt." Alfred reassured him. "We'll find something."

Matt managed a smile. "Sure we will, Al."

"Hey!"

The brothers looked up. There were two men standing above them, and they didn't look happy.

"Oi, you can't work here. This area's only for members of the theatre." the one who had spoken, a tall man with shockingly pale hair, dark red eyes and an arrogant sneer, was examining them with a bit of disdain. He was wearing a pair of tight black trousers and a plain white shirt under a dark blazer.

When neither brother spoke, the man's companion snapped, "Are you deaf? You can't work here, so go away!"

This man was shorter than the other, with a plump, scowling face and auburn hair with an unruly piece sticking up off his head. The fact that he was wearing an elegant, expensive-looking yellow silk dress with gathered sleeves and a blue sash was what astonished the brothers more than his sour tone.

"W - we're not doing _anything_." Matthew pointed out in bewilderment.

"Yeah, we just got into the city, how could we be doing anything?" Alfred added with a frown.

The two men exchanged glances.

"Do you know where you are?" the red eyed man asked, motioning at the theatre behind them. Matthew shook his head.

"We _just_ got off a ship and came here." Alfred reiterated, with annoyance.

"So what are you doing in _this_ part of town, then?" the shorter man demanded.

"We're looking for work." Matthew explained.

The red eyed man looked positively gleeful, and turned to his companion. "Whaddya think?" he asked. The shorter one scowled.

"What do I think of _what_?" he snapped. "You can't just ask me out of the - _oh_." Realization dawned on his petulant face. "Should we take them to see Madam?"

"Definitely." the red eyed man smirked, then turned back to the brothers. "What're your names, blondies?"

"_Blondies_?" the two chorused, looking at each other quizzically, before the elder supplied, "I'm Alfred."

"I'm Matthew." echoed the younger.

Red eyed man's grin made them uneasy. "Gilbert." he responded, and jerked a thumb at the man in the dress. "That's Lovino. Our boss has been talking about needing some help around the theatre. You interested?"

Matthew saw his brother's eyes brighten. "Seriously?" Alfred asked, as if expecting them to be kidding.

Lovino rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You really _are_ as dumb as you look." he griped. "Are you in or out?"

Matthew looked up just in time to see Gilbert's eyes slide away from his face, that same half-smirk on his face. Matthew had a bad feeling about this - the men, the theatre, the easy offer after an afternoon of searching. He almost wanted to refuse, wanted to get as far away from _Enjôler_ as possible.

But beggars couldn't be choosers and right now they were desperate. Matthew caught Alfred's eyes and gave a little nod.

Alfred rose to his feet, startling Lovino with his height; Matthew followed.

"We're in!" Alfred declared.

"Great." Gilbert looked amused by the elder's enthusiasm. "Follow us."

On the outside the theatre was a Plateresque architectural wonder, with ornate decorations and an elaborate facade. On the inside the lobby was dim, lit by dusty oil lamps and only the bare minimum of electricity, crushed red velvet carpets and a sweeping banister that led up to the second floor. The brothers almost stopped in their tracks to admire the view, but urging from Gilbert and Lovino kept them going, past the elegant, polished desk of the cloakroom, in through the heavy double doors to the theatre.

For all its grandness in the lobby, the theatre was smaller than they had imagined - it still looked like it held a fair number of people in old, creaking chairs, but the theatre itself looked a little run down and shabby. The boxes on the sides of the stage looked disused. The most amazing feature of the theatre was the detailed frame that surrounded the stage - a woodworking of a culmination of figures, shapes, and animals, including the carving of a woman on a spinning wheel at the top left; opposite her was a figure on his death bed, clawing at the sheets.

The stage was empty save for two women talking to each other in hushed tones. They stopped when Gilbert whistled loudly in the stillness of the theatre.

"Hey, Madam!" he called. "Lookit what we found!"

The taller of the women, the one in the beautiful red and black dress with puffed sleeves and tapered waist, turned.

"That is not a Madam!" Alfred hissed under his breath to Matthew.

No, it was most certainly not a _Madam_, it was most definitely a _Monsieur_ - an attractive blonde man with a gorgeous face but decidedly too much body hair and muscle to be feminine.

"Mm? What did you find, Gilbert?" he called, picking up his skirts so he could safely descend off the stage. Once he saw Alfred and Matthew, his face lit up.

"Ah! _Magnifique_!" he cooed. "How precious, where did you get them from?"

"Found them outside." Gilbert explained. "They're looking for work."

The blonde's companion, a short auburn haired youth who bore a striking resemblance to Lovino (albeit with a friendlier, more cheerful face and a blue dress with a yellow sash), sat down on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs cheerfully as he watched.

"Is that right?" the blonde looked down at them, a teasing smile tugging his lips upwards. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, we are." he said, a little annoyed at being paraded around and treated like he was five. "Do you have any work for us or don't you?"

When the blonde didn't answer Alfred pressed, "Because me and Matt, we've got _tons_ of job offers lined up, so..."

"That's a lie." the blonde said simply. "I can tell. But do not worry, _mes chers_, your troubles are over! I am Francis Bonnefoy, and I own _Enjôler_!"

The brothers introduced themselves. Francis looked impressed and made them do a complete turn for him, examining them with a steady, concentrating expression.

"You are both filthy." he declared. "We will have to get you cleaned up before you start work."

"What will we be doing - ?" Matthew started to ask, but Francis cut him off, inquiring, "Where are you staying?"

"We aren't staying anywhere." Alfred answered. "We have no money, that's why we need a job."

Francis looked surprised. "You have no money?" he repeated, looking over their heads at Gilbert.

The red eyed man readily supplied, "They just got into the city, apparently."

Matthew was unnerved by the look in Francis's eyes. "Well, you are in luck, _mes chers_! There are several apartments behind the theatre that my employees use! I can rent one out for you."

"Really?" the two chorused excitedly, and Francis laughed.

"Yes," he confirmed, "You will pay your rent by doing odd jobs around the theatre. You understand? Cleaning, being stage hands...things like that."

"Wait, I thought - " Gilbert began, but Francis talked over him, saying, "After all, since you are new in the city, you will need some time to..._adjust_, _oui_?"

"Thanks so much!" Alfred exclaimed. "This is great! We've been looking all day, we were getting pretty worried, huh Matt?"

Matthew was starting to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "Y-yes." he agreed.

"Are you two twins?" Francis wanted to know, lifting his hand in order to tilt Matthew's chin up. "What beautiful eyes." he added with a low murmur.

"No." Alfred answered, looking back and forth between Matthew and Francis, eyes narrowed. "I'm two years older than him."

"Oh?" Francis, thankfully, let go of Matthew. "Such pretty, young things. I think this will work. Have either of you ever worn a dress before?"

"What?" Alfred exclaimed. "Why would we need to wear _dresses_?"

Francis laughed lightly. "We have an...unfortunate lack of females, in our troupe." he explained smoothly. "Sometimes when we put on little shows we need to..._improvise_, for the female roles."

"We don't act." Alfred informed him stubbornly, jaw set. Francis waved him away.

"Don't worry, you do not need to know how to act in order to do it." he sighed. "Trust me."

He waved to the auburn haired boy on the stage. "Feliciano, _mon cher_, will you show them to their room? I think the one on the third floor will suffice. In the morning," he added to the two brothers, "you will report to me for your duties."

"Yes!" Feliciano chirped, hiking up his skirts, waving at Alfred and Matthew. "Come with me!"

Exchanging glances, the brothers thanked Francis one more time and clambered up on stage in order to follow the bouncy Feliciano into the wings of the stage.

There were very few people backstage - a couple of people (none of them wearing dresses, much to Alfred's relief!) were fixing ropes and arranging sandbags, but otherwise it was silent. Feliciano hummed a tune under his breath, skirts swishing.

"Where do you think those guys went? The ones who were at the door?" Alfred whispered to Matthew. Matthew shrugged.

"I don't know, I thought there was a show on. Maybe they were taking a tour?"

"Hurry up!" Feliciano chirped, plucking an iron key from the front of his corset, fitting it into a small, unremarkable door that sat at the far end of the backstage area. The brothers obediently quickened their pace. The key made a loud, grinding sound in the lock and the door itself looked heavy and foreboding, judging by the way Feliciano struggled a bit to open it.

Beyond the door was a plain hallway, with cream carpet and fading fleur-de-lys wallpaper. Doors lined the walls on either side of them. Feliciano didn't pause, continuing down the hallway and forcing the boys to follow.

Matthew only managed to see a few of the plaques on the doors, and they confused him.

_132 - Orange Room_, one read.

_145 - Flower Room_, said another. Matthew was about to point them out to Alfred, but he was just too tired to think anymore on it.

At the end of the hallway was the door to the stairwell, and Feliciano led them up, up, past the second floor and onto the third floor, which looked identical to the first floor hallway. Feliciano traversed halfway down the hallway before stopping front of a door and pulling out his key again. Alfred and Matthew crowded around him.

Matthew noticed there was no plaque on their door.

"So this is your apartment!" Feliciano explained cheerily, beaming at the both of them. "I'll get you a key tomorrow. Madam wants you downstairs at six o' clock tomorrow, sharp! You should get up earlier than that to get breakfast!" Feliciano pressed some coins into Alfred's hands, adding, "this is to get you started. Okay, bye bye!"

With one more enthusiastic wave, the man left them there, heading back towards the stairwell.

Alfred and Matthew stared at each other, then into the room. Alfred picked up the rucksack with a determined expression and went inside. Matthew, with one last glance up and down the hallway, followed.

The brothers were surprised at the interior of the apartment. It was small, but it was the nicest apartment they'd ever had (although that wasn't saying much). The wallpaper, the same fleur-de-lys as the hallway, was peeling a little bit, and there was only one bed, a big four poster with neutral coloured bedding, but Matthew discovered there was a small little kitchen and a little bathroom that would serve their purposes nicely. There was even a little reclining couch squished up near the window, which was covered by heavy canvas drapes.

Alfred whistled as he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the place. "What a stroke of luck, huh Matt?" he asked. Matthew nodded in agreement.

"It's incredible - almost too good to be true!" he replied, mind whirling. What exactly would they be doing to afford this apartment? How much were they getting paid? _Why_ did that man in the dress say he had beautiful eyes?

Alfred noticed him spacing out and groaned. "Matt." he commanded. "Please do not over think this. I am tired and I want to go to bed."

"I'm not _over thinking_." Matthew half-lied. "Besides, we should probably get cleaned up first."

"Oh yeah, I forgot!" Alfred snapped his fingers, dropping the rucksack in the corner. "Hey, Matt, I can take the couch if you don't want to sleep together."

Matthew smiled fondly at his older brother. "I don't mind." he said softly. "Geez Al, we've slept in worse places than this. Besides, you're my brother."

Alfred grinned. "You never know," he teased. "One day you could get embarrassed about sleeping with your old brother Alfred."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Sure Al." he replied.

Neither brother was aware of Feliciano standing outside their door, listening to their conversation through the wood. Giving a wide smile, Feliciano slipped the key back into his corset, straightened his skirts, and turned to his brother.

"I think they'll be really nice!" he told Lovino, who snorted.

"It doesn't matter if they're _nice_, idiot." he berated the younger. "It's if they _work_ well."

Feliciano tilted his head. "I'm sure they will!" he assured. "Madam really seems to like them."

Lovino grunted. "So does Gilbert," he admitted grudgingly. "Though that's not really a surprise, considering it's _Gilbert_."

Feliciano laughed. "_You_ think they're cute too, don't you brother?"

Lovino turned red and spluttered. "That - where are you getting _that_ from?" he demanded. "Idiot! I don't know _why_ I'm related to you!"

"Hey Lovino, wa-a-it!" Feliciano whined as his brother stormed away from him, nearly tripping over the hem of his dress. "I'm sorry, I won't mention that you think they're cute to anyone!"

"_Chigi_!" came his brother's response.

Feliciano whimpered.

* * *

_END CHAPTER ONE_

* * *

**Notes:**

ditto suits - suits fashionable in the 1890s, also known as "three piece suits" - a sack coat (it sounds like they are wearing a sack but no, I swear, it is another word for a lounge coat), waistcoat, and trousers.

"_the carving of a woman on a spinning wheel...a figure on his death bed..._" - from the Flemish fairy tale "The Nettle Spinner", in which some fucked up things happen and eventually someone dies but you saw that coming because it's a goddamned fairy tale.


	3. Unwitting

**Title: **Into the Face of the Beguiled

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Canada, France, Prussia, South Italy, North Italy, Taiwan, Netherlands (OC), Ukraine, Lithuania, Seychelles (D: THAT'S A LOT); more to come

**Rating:** M for mature because c'mon. It's a goddamned brothel.

**Summary: **AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.

* * *

At three in the morning, Matthew was attempting to stuff his pillow into his ears. Through the walls he could hear the ominous sound of bedsprings creaking, and muffled voices.

"Oh my God." Matthew said. Alfred snored on, blissfully ignorant, beside him. "Oh my God, what kind of apartment _is_ this?"

By six in the morning, Matthew was a wreck. Alfred looked refreshed, and Matthew decided not to bother his brother with the reasons for the bags under his eyes.

The two brothers, yawning slightly, stumbled into the theatre at six o'clock sharp. Francis was waiting for them.

"_Bon matin_,_ mes chers_!" the Frenchman chirped. "Are you ready for work?"

He was greeted with faint mumbles. Pouting, the Frenchman drew himself up, rosy in a delicate tea gown, and tapped his lacy fan lightly on the brothers' heads.

"First of all," he declared. "Manners. When you work in this theatre you must be _kind_, and _polite_, and most of all respect those above you. That includes _me_ as well as the patrons of the theatre. Do you understand, _mes chers_?"

"Yes." Matthew and Alfred said apologetically, attempting to wake themselves up. Francis waited expectantly, arms crossed. Eventually Matthew wised up.

"Yes Madam." he corrected. Alfred echoed him. Francis smiled.

"Such quick learners." he praised. "Good, that will come in handy. Today you will be taken to the seamstress for new clothes, and also be fitted for costumes - "

"But I said that we don't act." Alfred interrupted firmly. Francis waved the fan at him.

"It will be nothing _major_," the Frenchman assured airily. "A few simple steps to be learned, maybe a waltz. Besides, you will find that most things in this business come naturally after a while."

With a shark's grin, Francis continued to explain the rules - as they were the "newest members of the family" (as Francis put it), they would take orders from the rest of the troupe and stage crew. They were not to leave the building unattended ("You will be taken care of, I promise," Francis had promised with a beguiling smile), and until they gained some ground in their job they were to start work at six in the morning, and stop at seven in the evening, unless they were asked to stick around for the shows (which they probably would be).

Matthew exchanged a look with Alfred out the corner of his eye. "So we're basically doing anything you need done?" he confirmed. Francis looked amused.

"Basically." he agreed. "Now, I will leave you with a few people to get yourself acquainted. _Alors_..." he looked over his shoulder, towards the stage, and called, "Gilbert, please come here!"

The red eyed man traversed onstage, followed by Lovino, Feliciano, and three others, two of which were women.

"These are a few members of our _troupe_," Francis explained, giving the six people on stage an even stare, fanning himself. "You know Gilbert, of course, and Lovino, and _mon cher_ Feliciano..." he gestured to a pretty Asian girl, a flower tucked in her long sheet of dark hair, dressed in a traditional _qipao_. "This is Xiu Mei." Francis introduced, and the girl started a little before bowing, a little smile gracing her face.

The man next to her was tall, with pale hair in a tangled mess atop his head, a pointed face, and grey eyes. He was holding a felt hat in his hands and was dressed as if to go out to the shops. He grinned broadly at the two of them as Francis continued. "This is Lars," the Frenchman gestured flippantly with his fan, then moving so it landed on the last, a beautiful, older woman, blonde hair pinned in curls to the back of her head and (to Matthew's embarrassment), breasts nearly spilling from her corseted, laced-up torso.

"...and this is Kateryna." Francis concluded as the woman flushed and nodded to them. "As you see more people they will, of course, introduce themselves, but these six are my best. Now," Francis beamed benevolently at Matthew and Alfred, "Are you ready to get started?"

Alfred looked apprehensive, eyes flicking once in a while to Kateryna's...._generous_ anatomy.

"Sure." he said finally. "What are we doing?"

Francis smiled.

* * *

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Matthew was extremely suspicious. There was a line between "it's a new city and a new culture so everything seems wonky" and "something is going on", and this theatre had crossed it.

Currently Matthew was sweeping in between the rows of theatre seats while Alfred applied wood polish to the stage. Leaning on his broom, the younger blonde gave a sigh. It didn't help that his older brother was (unfortunately), a little oblivious. When he tried to discuss this with Alfred, all his brother would say was, "They're a little weird, Matt, but c'mon! Think of what we _could_ be doing!"

True, but Matthew had become uneasy. Despite Francis's assurance that they were actors who put on shows and dances for audiences, the way they dressed and talked was making Matthew suspicious.

He had come across Kateryna and Xiu Mei talking, the former cradling her breasts and complaining, "It's so hard when all the customers keep _grabbing_ them, I mean really..."

She had stopped when she saw Matthew, despite his questions about _who_, exactly, these customers were who were grabbing her breasts, and the two women had avoided him the rest of the day.

For another thing, though they claimed to be a fully operational theatre, _Enjôler_ was only open at night.

"Night shows, my dear!" Francis had told him. "It is only the most fashionable thing to do!"

Fashionable was one thing, Matthew decided, business was another. Surely the theatre would benefit from being open during the day as well?

The weirdest part was the looks the two brothers were receiving - not anything obvious, just subtle once-overs, knowing smiles exchanged between the members of the troupe, as if they were waiting for something, knew something Alfred and Matthew didn't.

Earlier that morning Francis had walked them down the street to a local clothing shop. The seamstress, a cheerful woman named Elizaveta, was on friendly terms with Francis, and looked the two brothers over like she knew a fantastic secret.

"You two are so adorable!" she told them. "What do you need?"

Before they could speak, Francis was telling Elizaveta in sure, precise, business like tones that the brothers needed one dress each plus needed accessories, a suit, and casual clothes. If needed, Elizaveta could make some alterations. Alfred had protested again: "I told you, we don't act! Why do we need dresses?" but Francis had simply talked over him.

Elizaveta looked disappointed. "Can't I make dresses for them?" she asked. "I could make such a beautiful one for him..." she motioned to Alfred, studying him with eagle-eyed fervor as if _imagining_ where the lace and bow would go. Francis laughed.

"Maybe once they have earned their dues," he reassured the woman. "For now, we are on a budget."

Elizaveta smiled fondly at the blonde man. "You are _never_ on a budget, Mr. Bonnefoy." she teased. "But I will see what I can do, regardless." then she had bustled off to the back, leaving Matthew and Alfred bewildered.

In the end Matthew and Alfred had left the shop with three separate outfits, compliments of Francis.

"Don't worry," the Frenchman had assured. "This is regulation for all our employees. If we do not make the effort to look good, we do not acquire customers. It is as simple as that."

"Aren't you going to deduct this from our salary?" Matthew had asked, and had received a smile from the Frenchman.

"You worry too much!" was Francis's answer.

True, but Matthew had learned over the years that it was better to be extra cautious than to throw everything to the wind, which his brother was quite fond of doing. He was so wrapped up in thinking that he didn't even notice Gilbert coming up behind him until he was tapped on the back of the head.

"Hey kiddo." the red eyed man grinned at him. "How's that sweeping going?"

Matthew flushed. "Er, it's coming." he lied, and started sweeping again, starting down the row of seats. Gilbert followed him, whistling a tune under his breath. He followed him up three rows until Matthew, patience wearing thin, turned with a huff.

"Was there something you wanted, uhm..."

"_Gilbert_." the red eyed man supplied with a little bit of annoyance. "Remember that, kid, I'm too awesome to be nameless."

"You're too...?" Matthew frowned. "All right, fine. Was there something you wanted, _Gilbert_?"

"Just checking to see if you needed any help!" Gilbert replied innocently.

"Well, I don't." Matthew replied. "Thank you for your concern."

Gilbert shrugged and instead sprawled himself on one of the seats, craning his neck so he could watch Matthew work.

That was _another_ thing Matthew had noticed. Aside from Francis, who was always around talking to someone or ordering people around, or visiting and Feliciano, who spent most of his time backstage cooing over props and scenery, no one except Matthew and Alfred did any cleaning. Gilbert had been lazing around talking to Feliciano before coming over to bother Matthew.

Gilbert was watching him with a smirk on his face. "Hey, you shouldn't get so worked up," he informed Matthew. "You're much cuter without a frown on your face."

"...Thanks." Matthew replied hesitantly, quickening his pace with the broom. Over on the stage, Alfred was talking to Feliciano in fast, cheerful tones. Matthew wished he could be talking to the little Italian instead of Gilbert. The red eyed man never failed to unnerve him. He concentrated on ignoring Gilbert and eventually the red eyed man got up and left him alone.

Inwardly, Matthew was relieved.

* * *

"Madam, do you mind if I go out to shop after work?" Matthew asked the Frenchman a few days later, steeling his nerves. Francis looked surprised.

"_Mon cher_, why?" he asked with a light laugh. "If you need something I will be glad to have someone get it for you..."

"No." Matthew answered firmly - he felt as surprised as Francis looked at his response, adding, "Please Madam. I haven't seen the city yet and I want to shop for something...personal."

Francis looked him over. "I will have someone go with you." he finally declared, a tinge of annoyance in his tone. "It is a big city, and if you are not careful you will get lost."

"Thank you." Matthew said, relieved. Over the past couple of days he had become more and more uneasy working at the theatre. At the end of each day he and Alfred were given their day's salary before being sent to their apartment. It was a small amount of money for a day's work, and though Alfred feigned optimism, Matthew knew that it would be tough to pay their rent while still purchasing food. This made Matthew wary. Francis hadn't told them their salary beforehand, nor had he mentioned how much it was costing to rent their apartment. So he planned to go into town to find a pawnbroker, in order to sell the crosses and jewelry he and his brother had kept. If something happened to them, or if Francis tried to cheat them, he and his brother could flee and have a bit of money to tide them over until the next job.

The idea of a chaperone annoyed Matthew, but he supposed it was fair. Besides, maybe whoever came with him would be sympathetic to his cause.

"Gilbert." Matthew's heart plummeted as Francis called the man over. "If you have some time after work, could you please go with _cher_ Mathieu into town?"

Gilbert looked over at Matthew, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Sure." he replied. "I'd be happy to."

"Don't you have work to do?" the man from a couple of days ago, Lars, asked Gilbert as he walked by. "I heard Feliciano was looking for you. Something about props...?"

Gilbert scowled at him. "I can still take Matthew into town." he insisted. Lars didn't look convinced.

"I can do it, if Gilbert is too _busy_." he told Francis, who looked amused at their disagreement.

"Gilbert, if you have something to do, I would rather you do it before we open for business." the Frenchman advised. "Lars, why don't _you_ accompany him, then?"

Matthew looked over at the man, who smiled back. Lars looked friendly, and despite not really talking to the man prior to this, Matthew nodded. "Thank you." he told Lars.

"It's my pleasure, really." Lars insisted. Gilbert gave a snort, and when Matthew looked over at him the red eyed man was walking away, back towards where Feliciano was waving him over. Francis, shaking his head in amusement, followed, leaving Matthew with Lars.

"What's wrong with him?" Matthew asked. The tall Dutchman shook his head.

"Don't worry about him." Lars assured. "Come on, we can go out now if you want."

"Huh? But I'm not done work..." Matthew protested as the tall man latched onto his elbow. Lars made a face.

"Oh please. You're not doing anything, anyways. Madam won't care, as long as we don't take too long. Come on."

It was chilly outside as they exited the theatre and turned left down the street - Matthew was thankful for the gloves Francis had bought him. As it got darker outside there seemed to be more and more people on the streets. Matthew looked around him in confusion.

"Is there an event happening tonight?" he asked. Lars looked around too and shrugged.

"Nothing more than usual." he replied. "Where did you need to go?"

Matthew paused, wondering if he should tell Lars, when someone behind them shouted, "Wait up!"

Lars frowned. Matthew turned to see Gilbert walking towards them.

"I'm coming with you." he declared loudly. "Nobody knows this city better than I do!"

Lars's frown deepened. "I was _born_ here," he pointed out. "You just moved here _how_ long ago?"

Gilbert waved him away. "Like I was saying," he said to Matthew. "I know this city like the back of my hand! We Prussians are _awesome_ at directions!"

"Really." Lars deadpanned on Matthew's other side as they walked down the street. Matthew managed a weak smile at their bickering but on the inside he was panicking. Gilbert was really close to Francis, would he get suspicious if Matthew asked to go to a pawnbroker? Would he assume that Matthew had stolen those earrings? Would he get in trouble? Matthew suddenly wished he'd never asked Francis to go shopping.

"Where are you going?" Lars repeated his question to Matthew, and when the boy paused again Gilbert elbowed him.

"I'm not just going to be walking around in circles all night!" the red eyed man declared. "Tell us what you want."

"...wnbroker." came Matthew's mutter. Gilbert squinted.

"Wha'?"

"_Pawnbroker_." Matthew repeated in a clearer tone, not meeting the men's eyes. "I need to find a pawnbroker."

Lars and Gilbert exchanged a puzzled glance. "Sure, kid." Gilbert said warily. "There's one 'round the corner. What are you bartering?"

"Just some...old stuff. From when Al and I were younger." Matthew half-lied. Gilbert's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he held out a hand.

"Let's see."

"Wh-what? Why?" Matthew demanded. Gilbert laughed.

"Kid, you are the worst at lying. If you've stolen something from the theatre, Madam's gonna have your hands cut off. So give it."

"I haven't stolen _anything_." Matthew protested angrily, slapping Gilbert's hand away. The red eyed man growled and grabbed Matthew's wrist, pulling him close.

"_Give it_." he repeated, other hand going for Matthew's jacket pocket. Lars watched them, grey eyes thoughtful.

The pressure on Matthew's wrist was painful, and finally Matthew hissed, "All right, let go!"

Gilbert softened his grip but didn't let go, forcing the younger boy to dig one handed for the crosses and the handkerchief of earrings.

Gilbert examined them dubiously. Lars laughed.

"You of all people should know we don't keep crosses in the theatre." the Dutchman taunted. "And unless you've got your ears pierced and never told me, the only earrings we have are the ones the girls own. And I doubt Matthew could get into their rooms."

"Oh, fuck off, I was just making sure." Gilbert snarled, releasing Matthew and shoving his things back at him. "Where the hell'd you get so many earrings, kid?"

Matthew's brain raced for an excuse, and Gilbert's eyes lit up in understanding.

"Ah, you're a little pickpocket, huh?" he sneered. "You and your brother make a living scamming people?"

"We -we're trying to start over." Matthew replied, backing away. There was no point in in lying - he didn't want to make Gilbert angrier. "We got this job so we didn't have to steal anymore - ow!"

"But you're still selling your spoils?" Gilbert taunted - he had backed Matthew up into the side of a building and grabbed his wrist again. "And working in a place like this? That's not "starting over", that's sinking _lower_."

"Gilbert, Christ..." Lars muttered, wary of the interested looks they were getting.

"What do you mean "in a place like this"?" Matthew demanded, shoving the crosses and earrings back into his jacket. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Oh _please_, you can't be _that_ stupid." he declared. "I know your brother pretends nothing's going on, but you must of figured it out by now."

Matthew stared at him, mind going a mile a minute. The elaborate clothing...the apartments behind the theatre...the fact that they were only open at night...the men who had given tickets to the theatre but hadn't been inside _because they'd gone into the back_...

"Fuck." Matthew said, and bolted.

Or tried to, rather. Gilbert seized him by the shoulders and slammed him backwards, knocking the wind out of him.

"So why were you going to sell your spoils, little pickpocket?" Gilbert drawled. "Thinking of leaving us _so soon_?" His fingers were digging into Matthew's shoulders, causing the boy to squirm.

"N-no!" Matthew protested. "Let _go_ of me, someone _help_ - !"

"Grab him." Gilbert ordered, and Lars quickly stepped around to Matthew's other side and seized his arm, avoiding the boy's angry kicks. Matthew swore as he was pinned between the two men.

"Stay still." Lars advised him - Matthew glared at him.

"Let go of me!" he repeated with venom. "I'm - I'm not going to be a part of this - "

"Yeah, you are." Gilbert told him, then raised his voice so the startled passerbys could hear him. "Sorry, he's a runaway."

To Matthew's horror, this seemed to be an acceptable excuse, and the small crowd that had gathered started to disperse.

"No! Don't leave!" he pleaded as Gilbert jerked him forward, towards the theatre.

"Don't even bother." Gilbert grunted. "Around here, people learn not to ask questions. You'll learn that too if you don't shut the fuck up."

Matthew tried once more to lunge free, but between Lars and Gilbert he was held fast.

"Time to go see Madam." Gilbert told him cheerfully, and Matthew was dragged, protesting, back towards _Enjôler_.

* * *

"E-excuse me?"

The voice behind Alfred was soft and hesitant, and when the blonde turned there was a man, maybe slightly older than himself, standing behind him. He had a kind, tired looking face, longish brown hair and green eyes.

"Hello!" Alfred chirped. The man looked curiously at him.

"Hello." he replied. "Are you open yet?"

"Nope, we'll be a couple minutes." Alfred assured.

"Oh." the brunette looked uncomfortable. "Are you - ah - new here? I don't think I've seen you before."

"Oh yeah, hey!" Alfred tucked his cleaning rag into the pocket of his trousers, and held out his hand. "My name's Alfred!"

"Toris." replied the brunette, taking Alfred's hand. "So...you _are_ new?"

Alfred nodded. "My brother and I just started working here a couple days ago."

Toris nodded, and then hesitantly asked, "What do you do?"

"What do I do?" Alfred repeated with a little frown. "Ah...anything, really! Whatever people want me to do."

"I see." Toris looked nervous, Alfred realized, shifting from foot to foot, looking shy and unremarkable in a grey suit.

"You okay?" he asked kindly, placing a hand on Toris's shoulder. The brunette paled.

"Yes, thank you." he muttered. Alfred beamed.

"Good! So, you come here a lot?" he asked conversationally. Toris choked.

"N-not a lot!" he protested. "Not..._every day_. Only when I can. Or when I feel I really need it!"

Alfred laughed. "Jeez, you're funny Toris." he exclaimed. "Settle down, it was just a question. I was just wonderin' how popular this place is. My brother and I, we've never been to this city before so..."

"Oh! Sorry, I see what you mean." Toris laughed in embarrassment. "Uhm - yes, this theatre is one of the more popular ones, but mostly only people "_in the know_" come here."

"In the know?" Alfred repeated, amused. "Er, high society, you mean? All those rich people?"

"Yes and no." Toris admitted. "Though most do have quite a bit of money. Really, only if you've been in this area for a while do you really know about this place."

Alfred nodded sagely. "I see, I see!" he proclaimed. "Sort of a "hidden treasure" huh?"

Toris smiled. "You could say that." he agreed.

Alfred, who decided Toris looked much nicer when he was smiling, smiled back. "Oh!" he suddenly exclaimed, adding, "we're open now" when he saw Michelle, the little pigtailed brunette who took tickets, coming outside, brushing off her blue dress. "You can go on in."

"Uh...Alfred," Toris began as the blonde started to turn away, "you aren't doing anything right now, are you?"

"Huh? Me?" Alfred repeated. "No, I was just cleaning some stuff but I'm done now."

"Hum." Toris nervously clenched his fists and examined Alfred. "You're, uh, you're not the type I usually get, but I like you, Alfred."

Alfred looked confused. "Huh? Yeah, I guess I haven't met someone like you either, Toris!" he replied easily. Toris laughed.

"You're funny Alfred. Do you want to go inside with me? If you're not supposed to be with someone else after this," he added quickly. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your work."

"Nope, I'm fine!" Alfred chirped. "Are you going to go see a show?"

"Hm?" Toris frowned. "There's no show on tonight, Alfred."

"Oh..." Alfred looked around him. "Are you sure? I - "

"Do you mind if we go to your room?" Toris interrupted, a bit of a light sweat breaking out on his forehead. The brunette was pretty sure that if he stood out here for too long, he'd lose his nerve. This blonde made him feel at ease but all the talking beforehand just made him antsy and nervous.

Alfred scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah, that's probably best." he agreed. Francis probably wouldn't approve of him hanging out with Toris, especially when there was no show that night. Plus, Matt wouldn't mind some company, would he?

Michelle cast them a worried look as they moved past her. "Alfred, didn't Madam - " she began, but Toris handed her a ticket. She took it gingerly, in between two fingers.

"...All right." she said uncertainly. "Have a nice night, sir."

Toris gathered his courage and reached out to cup Alfred's elbow. The blonde shot him a quizzical look.

"You sure you're okay?" Alfred asked him as Toris steered the both of them away from the doors to the theatre and instead to a little door that opened to a maze of dark corridors. "You're real pale."

Toris managed a smile.

"I'm just fine. What room did you say you were in, again?"

* * *

Michelle watched Alfred and Toris carefully until they disappeared behind the double doors to the lobby. She frowned. She had thought Madam hadn't yet told the two brothers what exactly they did at this theatre...so why did Alfred have a customer already?

She became even more suspicious when Gilbert and Lars passed her, dragging with them a yelling, kicking, Matthew.

"What's going on?!" Michelle demanded, jumping to avoid Matthew's feet. Gilbert gritted his teeth, keeping a firm hold on Matthew's arm.

"Never mind 'Chelles, can you get the door?"

Michelle obliged, and followed them as they forced Matthew up the lobby stairs, pulled him along the second floor hallway, and stopped him while Gilbert knocked on a polished oak door.

"Come in!" Francis called, and Matthew tried desperately to dig his heels into the floor - it would of worked if Michelle, through Gilbert's urging, hadn't gently shoved him in the back of the knees, crumpling his legs and making it much easier to pull him inside.

Michelle warily entered the room behind the trio, softly closing the door behind her. Francis's office were a curious mix of business space and personal space - Michelle knew that the door behind the elaborate desk Francis was sitting at contained the Madam's personal quarters, bedroom, bathroom, and sitting area. Few people had been back there, and Michelle wasn't sure if she should feel privileged or a little disgusted that she was one of them.

Matthew's arms were finally released and he scrambled away from Lars and Gilbert with an acidic look on his face.

"What's going on?" he spat.

"I thought that was _my_ line?" Francis suggested wryly, looking to Gilbert for an answer. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"He was trying to sell some stuff at the pawnbroker's," the red eyed man explained. "Then he figured everything out and tried to run."

"Oh? It didn't take you long, did it?" Francis asked sarcastically, looking at Matthew. The boy was standing in the middle of the room, face flushed, hands clenched into fists by his side, breathing heavily from being manhandled. The Frenchman rose from his desk.

"Come here, Mathieu," he ordered. Matthew clenched his jaw and remained where he was. Lars reached out a hand for him.

"C'mon, Matt..." he tried, but the younger boy swatted his hand away.

"Don't touch me." Matthew ground out.

"Mathieu," Francis sighed. "At the risk of sounding incredibly clichéd, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I might remind you that right now you are outnumbered, and I would hate to have to ruin your pretty little face. So, come _here_."

After a moment, Matthew took a step forward, and another, until he was standing in front of the desk. Michelle closed her eyes. She had seen this a dozen times, the anger and denial and then the eventual, inevitable break down. It never stopped being perversely interesting.

Francis looked pleased. "Good boy." he purred. "Now sit." he gestured to the chair opposite him. Matthew's nose twitched in anger but he obeyed, perched on the edge of the seat like he was ready to run if need be. Gilbert and Lars closed in, standing a little ways behind Matthew on either side of the chair.

Francis sat back down as well, and purposely took some time to finish up the note he'd been writing before they'd come in; then he replaced his pen and the papers into a locked drawer, put the key back into his pocket, and then said, "Well, Mathieu, I suppose it is time I tell you a story, _non_?"

* * *

_END CHAPTER TWO_

* * *

**Notes:**

Xiu Mei - Taiwan. I read somewhere that the name "Xiu Mei" means "beautiful plum"? The plum blossom is the flower of Taiwan. Anyways, yeah.

-a _qipao_ is another word for _cheongsam_, a one piece Chinese dress. It survived throughout history, being modified and re-modified as Western fashions changed (they'd add lace, fancy sleeves, stuff like that). Among high society for a while it was considered quite stylish and "exotic".

Lars - OC Netherlands, if you didn't already know!

Kateryna - Ukraine, but you could probably guess that

Michelle - Seychelles

"._.."Er, high society, you mean? All those rich people?" "Yes and no."..._" - there was a backlash in the Netherlands against prostitution in the late 19th century. Around this time, most of the clients of brothels were, in fact, men who were pretty well off. They have to get their jollies somewhere, I guess?

**Author's Note:** I have never before in my life written a conversation in which one person is talking about something and other is talking about something else. It was surprisingly fun!


	4. Enlightened

**Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled (Chapter Three)

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Lithuania, Canada, France, Seychelles, Gilbert, Netherlands (OC), Ukraine, Poland, North Italy; more to come

**Rating:** M for mature because c'mon. It's a goddamned brothel.

**Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.

* * *

"Home sweet home!" Alfred exclaimed, unlocking the door of the apartment and walking inside. He took a look around and frowned. "Huh. Matt's not here."

"Matt?" Toris repeated politely, slipping off his shoes and hanging his suit jacket on the coat rack by the door. Alfred turned with a little jump, as if he had momentarily forgotten Toris was there.

"My little brother," he explained. "He lives with me."

He missed the faint blush that covered Toris's cheeks. "Do you two work together?" he inquired.

"Well, yeah. We do the same jobs...sort of." Alfred admitted. "Hey, you want a drink?" he moved into the kitchen - Toris followed him. "I've got, uh...water. And some wine, I think, Francis got it for me but I don't know why he thought I would want it..."

"No, it's okay." Toris assured. "I'm...not really thirsty. May I sit down?" he gestured to one of the rickety chairs gathered around the small kitchen table.

"Sure!" Alfred waved his request off. "You don't need to ask. Just wait here so I can change outta these clothes and then we can talk. Or whatever."

"All right." Toris agreed, and waited for the blonde to disappear into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He was surprised Alfred didn't ask him what he preferred, but he supposed once he got in there they would start getting down to business. The blonde's carefree attitude and flippant speech made him instantly friendly and likable, completely unlike most of the people Toris usually encountered here.

It didn't help that Alfred was extremely attractive too...

Taking a deep breath, Toris peeled off his dress shirt, folded it and placed it on the small kitchen counter. Absently he reached a hand back and trailed his fingers over the welts on his back that were just starting to fade. Then he opened the door and made his way to the bedroom.

Alfred was standing with his back to the door, humming a jaunty sailing tune to himself, pulling his shirt off and revealing a long, lean torso, the muscles in his back working as he threw the shirt messily onto the bed. He didn't turn when Toris came in, intent on fiddling with the belt of his trouser with a little grunt.

Toris moved so fast, he didn't have time to register how Alfred tensed and jumped when the brunette put hands on the blonde's shoulders, how he began to protest when Toris turned him with gentle ease, and how he froze when Toris kissed him.

Toris shuttered his eyelids, watching Alfred through a haze of eyelashes. The blonde's eyes were wide, and when Toris moved closer Alfred's hands shot from his body.

Toris opened his eyes fully and pulled back. "What's wrong?" he asked, before he was shoved away.

"Wh - what the hell?" Alfred demanded. "What are you _doing_?"

"Huh?" Puzzled, Toris stepped backwards, awkwardly wrapping his arms around himself. "W-what's wrong, do you not...do that?"

"N - I mean - " the blonde seemed at an absolute loss for words. "I mean, you're a nice guy, but I don't _do_ that with people I just met!"

Toris wasn't sure whether he should laugh or not. Alfred looked genuinely distraught. "Are...are you joking?" he asked, before a thought struck him. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I should have _paid_ you first! I'm sorry, usually I...hold on, let me get my money..."

Alfred grabbed the brunette's arm as he began to reach for his wallet. "Toris." he said seriously. "What are you talking about? Why would you have to _pay_ me?"

Toris stared at the man. "Alfred...are you serious?" he asked, confusion creeping into his tone. "You - you work in a _brothel_, I - "

"No I don't!" Alfred exclaimed, turning red. "I'm - you thought I was a _prostitute_? I'm not!"

"Th-then what are you doing _here_?" Toris asked.

Eventually both of them calmed down enough to put on their respective clothing, return to the kitchen, and take advantage of that alcohol Alfred was talking about. Toris felt mortified. Alfred sat across from him at the kitchen table, expression guarded and exceedingly bewildered. He clenched and unclenched his fingers around the cup that held the cheap wine. Toris kept his eyes glued on the tabletop.

"I - all right." he tried. "So...Bonnefoy didn't tell you _anything_ about - ?"

"No." Alfred cut him off, sudden anger clouding his face. "He didn't say anything, the _bastard_..."

Toris took a deep breath. "Would you like me to explain?" he asked.

Alfred dropped his head into his hands. "Why not?" he groaned.

Toris wasn't sure if that was a _yes_ or a _no_. "Uhm, well, the _Enjôler_ is famous in Amsterdam as a theatre that operates as a brothel," he explained. "There are two types of tickets that the theatre sells - green tickets, and yellow tickets. Those who think the _Enjôler_ is a theatre purchase yellow tickets, which are used when the troupe puts on shows - and they _do_," he added at Alfred's dubious stare. "Uh - Bonnefoy puts on an amazing Can Can. He's originally from France, you know, everything he learned about theatre comes from Paris..." Toris trailed off sheepishly.

"Sorry. Uhm, those who know what's behind the _Enjôler_ specifically ask for green tickets. This lets the troupe know which questions to ask when you arrive, without giving away their real occupation accidentally to the people who think this is just a theatre. You can pick who you buy for the night based on what you want."

"And what do _you_ want?" Alfred asked him suddenly, blue eyes fixed on the brunette's face. Toris blushed.

"M-most of the people here specialize in something," he pressed on, avoiding the question. "So depending on your preference - "

"Toris." Alfred's eyes were a horrible kind of blue, drawing the other man in. "If you had walked in here...and I hadn't pushed you away...what would you have asked for?"

Toris swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. "I - I like to be hurt, sometimes." he admitted. "Sometimes life...gets so _boring_ that I just want to feel something." he lifted his eyes. "D-do you understand what I mean? Usually there's this man on the second floor - Berwald - who I go to because he's got a good arm and Bonnefoy lets him keep most of the whips, and - "

"You _pay_ people to _whip_ you?" Alfred asked, and his tone stung Toris. The blonde must have seen the effect his words had, because he hurried to say, "Look, Toris, sorry. I'm not trying to - jeez." he ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that my brother and I, we - _fuck!_" Alfred sprang to his feet. "My brother...oh my God, where's Mattie?"

Toris scrambled to his feet. "Does he know?" he asked.

"No! At least, I don't think so - no, if he knew, he would've told me..." Agitated, Alfred strode towards the door, throwing it open. "Fuck. I'm sorry Toris, but if you could - "

"O - of course!" Toris hurried to catch up with the blonde as they flew down the hallway, back towards _Enjôler_. "I'm...sorry that you had to find out this way, and I'm sorry you think I'm a huge pervert now, and I - "

A hand landed on his head. "Stop apologizin'." Alfred ordered, shooting him a waning smile. "Awkward way to meet, though, huh? And hey," Alfred's voice lowered and he had the gall to wink at Toris. "For what it's worth, you're a pretty good kisser. You know. Aside from the whole, "surprise, you think I'm a prostitute!" thing."

Toris flushed red. "I - I should probably get going." he muttered once they arrived in the theatre lobby. "I hope you find your brother." Quickly, he turned on his heel to make his escape towards the front theatre doors, all the while berating himself internally.

_Stupid! I am never coming back here..._

Alfred felt a little bad for the guy, as he watched the brunette go, but he was too preoccupied with the thought of Matthew. He remembered his brother talking to Francis a while ago, but after that he'd lost track of him.

Glancing up, Alfred started up the stairs, jaw set. If that Frenchman hurt his brother in anyway, he was going to make sure that heads rolled.

There was commotion behind the door that led to Francis's office, and Alfred banged on the door. "Matt?" he called. "Are you in there?"

There was a choked cry and sounds of a scuffle. "Al!" he heard Matt yell. "Get out of here, hurry - !"

The door was wrenched open and Alfred found himself staring at Gilbert. The red eyed man looked positively gleeful and one side of his face was red, as if he'd been recently hit.

"Oh look, they come in a pair." he joked, grabbing Alfred's shirt collar and yanking him in.

Matthew was being held back by Lars, a horrified and anxious look on his face. "Are you all right?" he asked Alfred. The older brother shoved Gilbert off him and approached his sibling.

"I'm fine," he said flippantly. "Are _you_? Let go of him," he told Lars, who looked uncertainly over at Francis. Francis waved a hand, and the Dutchman allowed Matthew to break free and fling his arms around his brother's neck.

Pressing his face against Alfred's ear, Matthew muttered, "We have to get out of here."

"I know." Alfred whispered back, then wrapped an arm around his younger brother's waist, fixing Francis with an icy stare. "We did _not_ sign up for this."

"Technically, I said you'd be doing odd jobs." Francis remarked, propping his head up daintily on his palm. "Think of this as a...very odd job."

"Look, buddy, I don't know if you've misunderstood us or what," Alfred growled. Matthew, having calmed down a bit, detached himself from his brother but still kept close, turning to stare at the Frenchman. "We're poor, yeah, but we're not _whores_. Especially not _your_ whores. We'll clean and we'll help with the stage but we _won't_ sell ourselves. C'mon Matt, let's get out of here."

A hand on his little brother's elbow, he made to leave, but Gilbert was leaning against the door, arms crossed. Beside him, Michelle peeked out nervously from between her fingers.

"Don't forget," Francis called to them, "that you owe me not only for the rent on your apartment but for your clothes and your food as well."

Alfred froze, then turned back angrily. "Then you'll give us jobs that don't involve prostitution," he ground out, "and we'll pay off our debt that way."

"You'll never make the money up, working for what I'm paying you now." Francis pointed out. His eyes were half-lidded and he looked wholly entertained by the conversation. "If you want to pay me off you'll need a higher paying job. I can give you one."

"_Bullshit_." Alfred snarled.

"That's unfair, and it's malicious," Matthew piped up, a tight little frown on his face. "You deceived us. You can't keep us here, we're leaving."

"I'm sure the police will be interested to hear about how you skipped out on the money you owe me." Francis sighed. "_And_ those earrings in your pocket, as well."

Matthew flinched. Alfred cast him a quizzical look. "A - and I'm sure they'd be interested in hearing about how you run a _brothel_ behind a theatre," Matthew shot back, bravely. Francis looked amused.

"And what proof do they have?" he asked, waving a hand around. "Do you see any customers, any incriminating evidence? All we are is a theatre, my dear, a theatre that puts on shows and occasionally offers men the chance to have a bit _more_." Francis's smile was almost sickeningly triumphant. "Oh, but I'm sure the police will believe the words of two _runaways_."

Matthew was shaking his head in disbelief. "This - no." he kept repeating. "I can't...I've never..."

"I will teach you." Francis's smile could not be anymore dangerous. "Do not worry, you are in good hands."

Right. Alfred could believe that. He chanced a glance at his brother, whose face was pale. Matthew caught his eye, gave a weak smile, and reached out to take his hand in comfort.

Francis eyed their conjoined hands with interest. "At _Enjôler_ each floor of the apartments has a specialty," he explained. "Our first floor deals is for...ah, people who want something _exotic_, or people who like to use their imagination."

Matthew was pretty sure he did not want to use his imagination, especially not when thinking about what Francis was telling them.

"Our second floor is for people who aren't looking for anything in particular." Francis continued, "We assign clients to them based on looks or a vague description of what the customer wants. However, there are a few people who are...talented in other areas."

Francis stared directly at them, smiling. "Our _third_ floor," he said slowly, "Contains members of our family who have a certain gimmick they exploit in order to gain customers."

Matthew didn't like where this was headed. "And what's _our_ gimmick?" he asked coldly. Francis winked.

"Twins." he answered simply.

The brothers stared at him.

"We told you, we're _not_ twins," Alfred snorted. "And besides, don't you _already_ have Lovino and Feliciano to take care of that perverted kink of yours?"

Francis rolled his eyes. "Regardless, you look almost identical." he told them. "And _mon cher_ Feliciano and his brother do not work that much anymore. They are...how do you say it? _Reserved_."

"Reserved." Alfred repeated. "Like a table."

Francis and Gilbert laughed.

"Sometimes, if clients are rich enough, or influential enough," Lars explained quietly behind them. "They can ask that a certain prostitute be removed from normal sale, and be available only to them. It doesn't happen often." Matthew kept his back turned to the Dutch man, refusing to meet his eyes.

"_So_, we are in need of some twins to fill the demand!" Francis chirped. "We will start you off easily, I promise. You will perform in the shows and entertain in the lobby afterwards. If clients pay a little more, than they can take both of you up to your room. At the most, for now, you will have to put up with fondling; limited oral, no penetration, no - "

"This is crazy." Alfred declared. "We're still not doing it."

Francis blinked up at him. "_Mon cher_," he began patiently, as if talking to a child, "I know you are not often prone to reasoning, but I assure you this is the only option you have left."

"There's always another option." Alfred said stubbornly. "You think you're trapping us but you're wrong. We'll find a way out of here and you better hope I don't slit your throat for what you've done to me and my brother."

Michelle made a little noise, in shock that Alfred would threaten Francis so openly. The Frenchman merely gave a little smile.

"I look forward to seeing you try," he murmured. "But I have been in this business since you were still a child. Very few whores have gotten away from _me_."

Alfred remained undeterred, blue eyes still bright with anger and determination. "Well, maybe it's time for a change." he answered cryptically.

With a sigh, Francis got to his feet, shaking out his blonde hair with tired practice.

"Gilbert, Lars, you will take them downstairs and explain about tonight?" he asked the two, who nodded obligingly.

"Come on." Lars told Matthew. The younger boy avoided his eyes, keeping his hand locked with his brother's.

"We can walk ourselves, thank you." he sniffed. Lars looked amused.

"I know." he said, putting his hands up in front of him teasingly. "Walk out the door, then."

Matthew glared at him before pulling Alfred with him, away from the smirking Frenchman. Gilbert stepped aside for them, red eyes following Matthew as he went.

Once the brothers were out the door, Lars and Gilbert nodded to Francis and followed them, quickly.

Michelle was left, pressed up against the wall, eyes wide. "Wh - " she started anxiously, but Francis shook his head. "I know what I am doing." he assured the girl. "Do not worry."

"...I'm not." Michelle said finally. "Just...surprised."

Francis gave her a wolf's grin. "And why would that be, _mon ange_?" he teased. "You have been around long enough."

"I suppose so." Michelle admitted. "I feel bad for them."

The Frenchman's eyes went very sharp. "Do you?" he repeated mildly. "Having pangs of sympathy, are you?"

Michelle flushed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." she mumbled, staring very hard at the carpeted floor.

"Then I do not know what you mean." was Francis's flippant reply, with an added, "Don't you have something you need to be doing, _mon ange_?"

"Yes. Sorry, Madam." Michelle answered, hand on the doorknob. The blonde man continued to smile benevolently at her as she let herself out of the office, closing the door behind her.

She had seen it a dozen times, she reminded herself, but that didn't make her feel any better.

* * *

Matthew was surprised at how calm he was. He should be screaming, he reasoned as he followed Lars and Gilbert down to the lobby. He should be trying to run - he and his brother should be fighting this. But he was in shock, numbly walking shoulder to shoulder with his brother. They passed the front doors and the two of them exchanged looks.

_Not now_, his brother's eyes seemed to say. _Later_.

Matthew trusted him enough to relax his shoulders, unclench his fists and continue walking past their chance at freedom.

Inside the theatre, they were met with Kateryna and another man on the stage, attempting to perform a high energy dance. The blonde woman looked stunning in a flowing, Mediterranean inspired dress. Feliciano was perched on one of the theatre seats, clapping his hands to the rhythm.

"Faster, please!" he called "Keep to the count!"

Kateryna, face red, huffed, "Feliciano, I - I think I need more - "

"Oh, do they still hurt?" Feliciano asked - at the blonde woman's nod, he turned in his seat. "Lovino!" he chirped, calling for his brother. "Could you get some more binding?"

"_Fine_!" came the call from behind the stage.

"I'm really sorry." Kateryna was apologizing, eyes becoming dangerously moist. The man next to her patted her sympathetically between the shoulder blades.

"Kateryna," he said. "If you don't, like, take care of those things, your back's gonna be totally shot when you're a old lady."

"I know, Feliks." Kateryna sighed. "But what am I going to do about them?"

"Not wear dresses like _these_!" the man named Feliks declared, plucking disdainfully at the frilly sleeve of Kateryna's outfit. "There's absolutely _no_ support whatsoever. It's, like, utterly _painful_."

Kateryna muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "_Tell_ me about it", crossing her arms under her breasts so they were propped up on her forearms.

"Did you find it?" Feliciano called.

"Just _hold on_ a fucking minute!" Lovino sounded incredibly irritated. "You keep so much fucking stuff back here!"

"Maybe we can get Elizaveta to modify it." Feliciano suggested to Kateryna. "More boning."

"I think that would help." Kateryna agreed. "It would at least stop them from hitting each other."

Feliciano pouted. "Shame, it was so cute on you."

Kateryna laughed. "Flatterer." she accused.

Gilbert cleared his throat, and Feliciano turned. "Oh! Hi!" the Italian said cheerfully. "Is it time for me to explain?"

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah." Feliciano turned to the two on stage.

"Take a break!" he announced. "You should probably go help Lovino find that binding."

Kateryna and Feliks nodded, casting a few curious looks at the brothers as they walked offstage.

"So, you know now!" Feliciano addressed the brothers. "That's good! I don't like lying to people!"

"Could have fooled us." Alfred remarked, and the brunette blinked at him.

"I didn't say I was _bad_ at lying!" Feliciano corrected. "Just that I don't like it!" Without missing a beat, the little auburn haired man clapped his hands. "I should tell you about the shows, right? Okay, I will!" Feliciano hopped up on stage, amazingly agile for having to deal with so many petticoats. Gilbert and Lars sat down in some theatre seats; the brothers remained standing.

"So! Shows~! We put on shows for the public twice a week. They're not very long, but people seem to like them. You don't get very much time to prepare, but it's not that hard - mostly some dance steps or a little play! Understand?" Feliciano beamed at them. When neither brother answered, Feliciano nodded to himself.

"So I should talk to you about clients, too!" he continued. "Usually Madam meets the client himself and sends them to your room, but often if clients see you in the theatre or in the lobby after the show they talk to you directly. Most family members who've been here a long time can be trusted to handle fees themselves, but you two have to report to Madam so he can take care of payment. If the client says he'll pay you extra if you take him to your room first, _don't_ believe him. Some of these guys can get pushy." Feliciano's expression had grown somber, and when Matthew chanced a glance at Lars and Gilbert he saw the two of them nodding in agreement.

"When you're making a deal with a client," Feliciano said in a quieter tone, "outline clearly what you will and won't do. If they overstep what they've paid for, push them off or holler or make a fuss. We'll come help you if you need it. Madam usually throws them out if they insist on being pushy. Otherwise, be polite. Ask them what they want, and play along with what they want."

Feliciano looked over at Lars and Gilbert. "Do we need to practice?"

Lars shrugged. Gilbert grinned. "Why not?" he asked.

"Okay, stand beside each other!" Feliciano instructed, motioning at the brothers. They looked warily at each other, but obliged.

"If you're playing twins, you should stick together," Feliciano instructed. "Hold hands, maybe - people liked it when Lovino and I did that! And move together too! Try to synchronize!" Feliciano paused to examine them as they tried it. Alfred's hand was sweaty in Matthew's own, and they accidentally bumped hips as they both tried to take a step.

"We're not _Siamese_ twins!" Matthew heard his brother growl under his breath, and it made him laugh.

"Which one of you is better at talking?" Feliciano asked.

Alfred and Matthew shared a smile. "Alfred." Matthew answered for them both.

"Then, Alfred, you'll do most of the talking!" Feliciano decided. "People like it when one of the twins is really shy! So when the client talks to you, Matthew, act shy! Trust me, clients really like it! Uhm." Feliciano put a finger to his chin in thought. "Understand? Let's try - Lars, act like a client, and they'll respond to you."

"All right." the Dutchman stood, and shook out his shoulders. When he turned to them there was a mischievous grin on his face and his eyes locked with Matthew as he asked them quietly, "Hey boys. What are your names?"

Alfred looked thoroughly uncomfortable with the whole process. "I'm Alfred." he tried, in a halting voice. "This is my brother, Matthew."

Lars smiled. "You look alike." he nodded. "Do you come together?"

The implication of his question made Matthew's face heat up - by the look of Lars's triumphant smirk, he had clearly intended the question to rile him up. Matthew pressed his shoulder into Alfred's. He wasn't going to let the Dutchman make a fool of them. He lowered his lashes a touch and gave Lars a shy little smile, tilting his head so his nose brushed his brother's cheek. He was pleased when Lars gave him a surprised look, as if he hadn't expected him to act shy.

Which was just stupid. If there was one thing Alfred and Matthew had learned on the street, it was to play up their assets. Alfred was good at playing the charming golden boy, and Matthew worked best as the shy little ingénue.

"We work together." Alfred corrected in a brisk tone. "You can't have one without the other."

"Interesting." Lars was barely watching Alfred anymore, concentrated on Matt. "Are you two free right now?"

Alfred opened his mouth as if to speak, but obviously remembered something because he paused before saying, "It depends on what you're looking for."

"Good!" they heard Feliciano exclaim in the background. Lars shrugged casually.

"I'm just looking for a little fun." he replied ambiguously. Matthew nudged Alfred with his elbow. Feliciano said they had to be clear.

"So..." Alfred tilted his head slyly so his head brushed with Matthew's. "If you took us up to our room..."

"...and we took our clothes off..." Matthew whispered softly, watching Lars's eyes.

"...what would be willing to pay to do to us?" Alfred finished. There was a pause.

Then Lars's eyes flashed, and then he crowed, "They're fucking _naturals_, Feliciano!"

Feliciano cheered, Gilbert laughing in the background as Alfred pulled a face and muttered to his brother, "I think I'm going to throw up if I have to say that shit to the slimebags that hang around this place." his eyes softened and he examined Matthew. "Are you okay? That didn't weird you out?"

Matthew shook his head. "It's fine." he insisted. "It's just pretend."

"Yeah, but still...don't worry." Alfred's voice lowered so Matthew could barely hear him. "Tonight. We'll get out of this hell-hole tonight and we won't have to worry about _any_ of this."

Matthew's breath caught in his throat. "Okay." he agreed breathlessly. "Tonight."

"Hey, ladies!" Gilbert shouted at them. "Stop gossiping, we have to tell you more stuff."

"_We_?" Matthew muttered spitefully to his brother. "Like he's _done_ anything..."

"I heard that!"

Matthew paled.

Feliciano examined them curiously. "You two are virgins, right?" he asked, and laughed when the two brothers spluttered. "It's okay if you are~, I was just wondering! Madam wants to start you off slow, okay? So here's what you're allowed to do with customers - and you have to _tell_ them this upfront or they'll get the wrong impression. Any fondling, kissing, hand-jobs or blow-jobs is okay. If they want to put it in you," Feliciano demonstrated with hilarious hand motions, "That's not all right! Remember that, you promise?"

Alfred looked sick. Matthew felt as bad as he did. He didn't want to think about it, but it was a reality: they would be entertaining strangers using their bodies.

No. That wasn't true. They were getting out of here tonight. Matthew took a deep breath and smiled at his brother. Alfred was strong. Alfred was always the hero. Alfred would get them out of this.

The look on his brother's face said otherwise, but Matthew ignored it, instead fixing a plastic smile on his face. "Absolutely." he told Feliciano. "We'll remember that."

Feliciano looked delighted. "Great!" he clapped his hands. "Okay, that's all I wanted to talk about! Thank you!"

Matthew wished they'd never come to Amsterdam.

* * *

_END CHAPTER THREE_

* * *

**Notes:**

-common practice among brothel owners around this time was to take in prostitutes to work in their brothels then buy them clothing and other accessories. This was in order to get them so in debt they were forced to continue working in the brothel to pay off their debt. Of course, then the brothel owner would continue piling fees on them so the prostitute would be stuck there. Usually they couldn't leave the brothel without supervision and had to pay fines. Not a very fair life but HEY that's prostitution for you!

-during this time period prostitution itself was not illegal but owning a brothel and living off the prostitution of others (like a Madam) was illegal. There were mandatory health checks for prostitutes but these did not stop the spread of sexual diseases. I have no idea about the practice of "safe sex" in brothels during this time - one of the earliest recorded usages of a condom by prostitutes was in the 18th century in Venice, and the condoms were made of cat guts. Condoms at this time were made of rubber thanks to the findings of CHARLES GOODYEAR! Condoms were made by wrapping strips of raw rubber around a penis mold and then curing the rubber. I've heard they're not the most reliable things... What I'm trying to say is, I don't know, but I suspect, especially in the seedier places, not a lot of condoms would be going on, if you know what I'm saying.

-like, I know they, like, totally wouldn't talk like Feliks in the 1890s but, c'mon, I mean, seriously, you can't get rid of such a characteristic speech pattern, I mean gag me with a spoon!


	5. In Which there is a Danish

**Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled

**Author:** tatterdemalion

**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Canada, Netherlands (NO LONGER AN OC, YES), France, mentions of Sweden and Switzerland, Denmark.

**Rating:** M for mature because c'mon. It's a goddamned brothel.

**Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.

**Note:** I - I'm not actually dead. Swear it. Now that my Secret Santas from livejournal are all through, I'm good. I'm totally good.

Haha, so you know how I was lying to you about the rating for the last couple of chapters? Here is where I start not lying.

* * *

"You have everything?"

"There's not much to have, Al..."

"Check under the door, make sure no one's outside."

"I _did_."

"Okay. I'm gonna throw this down, and when you jump out the window make sure you land on it. I don't want to carry you because you broke your leg."

"_Okay_, Al."

"Right. On the count of three: one, two, _three_."

...

"Well damn."

Matthew, stricken, tried once more to push their apartment window open. The thick glass didn't even budge.

"We did not think this through." he told Alfred, who was fiddling with the hinges on the side. They wouldn't move either.

Alfred threw the rucksack down in frustration, jaw tensed. "We _have_ to get out of here." he declared, and disappeared into the kitchen. Matthew sighed.

They had been sent to their room while the troupe performed downstairs in the theatre - Francis said that he would send someone up to fetch them once it was time to start earning customers. Matthew's stomach had been hurting with anticipation ever since, but Alfred had said he had a plan.

Well...he _did_ have a plan.

"Al, maybe it would make sense to try it during the day?" he called after his brother. "We're pretty fast on our feet, if we caught them off guard we could get a big head start. Besides, I don't think jumping out the third floor window was our best plan."

Alfred came back into the main room with one of the kitchen chairs gripped tightly in his hands. Matthew stared.

"Uh...Al?" he tried. He heard voices in the hallway, a knocking at the door.

"We're here to bring you downstairs." someone said gruffly on the other side of the wood. Matthew panicked.

"Al!" he repeated, more frantically this time.

"Stand back, Mattie." Alfred said, then lifted the chair over his head and brought it hurtling down into the window. The glass shattered under the force, and Matthew threw his hands up over his face.

"_Christ_, Al!" he exclaimed.

"Come on, hurry up!" Alfred grabbed the rucksack and dropped it out the window. "We don't have much time!"

There was a commotion outside, and the brothers exchanged panicked glances. "Go!" Alfred urged, shoving Matthew towards the window. The younger of the two stumbled, and steadied himself on the window frame, wincing as he narrowly missed cutting his fingers on the glass shards - he pulled his sleeves over his hands to protect them. The rucksack looked so far away, and Matthew let out an exclamation as someone started banging on their door.

"_Please_, Matthew!" Matthew had never seen Alfred look so scared in his life. "I'm right behind you, I swear it, go!"

On his brother's urging, Matthew clambered over the sill and jumped, trying to aim for the rucksack. He nearly missed it - his feet hit the edge and pain shot up through his right leg. He shoved his shoulder forward and threw himself into a tumble, breaking the rest of his fall.

Wincing from the pain, Matthew stared up at the window, where he could see Alfred standing, illuminated by the bedroom lights.

"Alfred, come on!" he hissed up at his brother. "Hurry!"

"Mattie, get out of here! Shoot - " Alfred disappeared from the window and Matthew's heart sank.

"No, Al!" he exclaimed again. "Please, Al, jump!"

No answer. Frantically, Matthew scrambled to his feet, grabbed the rucksack, and limped around the side of the building. It took him a while to get used to the pain, but fear for his brother and for himself kept him going. Their window lay around the back of the theatre, overlooking the alley between the theatre and the next door bookshop. At the end of the alley Matthew could see the nighttime patrons, the lights of the shops. As he got closer to the front of the theatre he heard voices rising above the usual street conversation, and pressed himself up against the side of the building, panicking. Had word of their escape attempt spread that fast?

A few metres down, hidden partially by a pair of run down wooden shutters, one of the windows that lined the side of the building was open a crack. Matthew seized the opportunity - if he could get in and lay low, hopefully he could meet up with his brother later, providing Alfred had been able to get away.

The voices drew closer - Matthew seized the window rim, yanked it open, wriggled himself inside, and closed it behind him. Once he was sure the drapes were securely covering the window, Matthew allowed himself to relax.

The first thing he noticed was the pungent, cloying smell that filled the room he'd just entered - it was dimly lit but the smoke in the room caused a haze that stung his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin, stomach dropping.

Lars was standing behind him, looking annoyed and ruffled and sluggish. If Matthew squinted, he could see an armchair in the haze, and a smoky glass tube. A tendril of smoke curled upwards from the mouth of the glass. He stepped backwards.

Shit. Out of all the rooms he could pick, he chose _this one_.

"What are you doing?" Lars repeated, reaching forward to put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. He reeked of the smoke and Matthew coughed.

"I - uhm..." Matthew tried to look elsewhere. "C-can you turn on a light?"

Lars examined him with narrowed eyes, before turning and advancing further into the room and turning on a tassled lamp. Matthew blinked against the bright light, before staring.

The apartment Lars had was nothing short of luxurious. With a colour scheme of rich reds and golds, an elaborate four poster bed and delicately carved furniture, it looked so out of place with the rest of the theatre's rather tacky decadence. Matthew could do nothing but gape.

"Like it?" Lars asked bitterly, noticing his staring. He straightened up and gave the bedside table a little kick. "Don't. Most of it's cheap imitation. Bonnefoy wouldn't spend too much money to doll this place up, but it fits with the theme."

Matthew found his voice again. "Wh-what theme?"

Lars motioned vaguely around the room with a flippant wave of his hand. "This is the first floor, right? So this room is for people who want to role play." he walked over to an armoire that was crouching in the corner, and wrenched one of the doors open. Now that Matthew was close he could see that it was made of cheap, thin wood, and it hung slightly from its hinges. Inside the armoire were several different outfits, each rather elaborate, and looked to be from the 17th century rather than the present.

"This is the _Orange Room_," Lars explained. "I dress up like some member of nobility and people pay to fuck me like that."

At Matthew's wide eyed stare, Lars flashed him a bitter smile. "You wouldn't _believe_ how many people secretly have a boner for the nobles." he explained. "It's unreal."

Matthew couldn't help but snort, helplessly, with laughter. This was all so surreal. Lars looked momentarily taken aback, before approaching the younger man.

"I'm going to pretend you're _not_ laughing at me," he said. "So why are you here, funny man?"

The smile faded from the youth's face and Lars had the recurring feeling of facing a trapped animal. The kid had such a wide-eyed look about him, those big blue-purple eyes frightened and tense. Even under the influence of the cannabis, Lars readied himself to restrain Matthew if necessary.

"Didja try to run?" he asked softly. The kid clenched his fists and released them - a steady, comforting pulse. Lars sighed.

"Oh, kid." he chastised, shaking his head. "I've been here a long time, Matt. It doesn't work, okay? Francis is a smart guy, he isn't just flying blind. If I were you I'd try to lie low for the first little while, try to avoid drawing his attention to you. It makes things easier."

"Why?" Matthew asked tersely. "Why should I give in to him? He's a criminal, he's a horrible man, I - "

Lars grabbed his elbow and shook him, sharply. "Don't say that." he ordered. "Look, I like you, kid, but if you're going to be naive about it, you're only going to make it worse for yourself. You have to know how to _survive_ in here, so you can live long enough to get out. Got it?"

The kid looked startled - Lars felt a pang of sympathy.

"I'll try to help you out, if you want." he offered. "But you gotta behave, all right? Better boys than you have gotten on Bonnefoy's bad side."

Matthew eyed him darkly. "And what's happened to them?" he asked. Lars's hand slid, loosely, down the crook of Matthew's elbow and dropping to his side. Matthew tilted his head at his silence.

"What is that?" he asked, motioning over Lars's shoulder, at the bong that was now cooled. Lars twisted around.

"_That_," he said proudly, as if talking about his child, "is cannabis, my fine friend. Wonder drug of the 19th century."

Lars moved towards the armchair at the same time as Matthew moved, sideways, dodging the Dutch man's tall frame, making a pass for the apartment door.

Lars was drugged but he wasn't slow - if anything, he considered his tolerance to the adverse effects of the drug to be higher than normal, considering how many times he smoked. He leaned forwards, swiping his leg between Matthew's. The younger man tripped, tangled, and went stumbling forwards and downwards, onto the thinly carpeted floor of Lars's apartment. When Matthew scrambled up, onto his elbows, Lars crouched quickly and pressed down on Matthew's shoulder blades with both hands.

"Matthew." he fought against the boy's frantic thrashing. "Matthew, listen to me. I can't let you run, Matt. Look, it's not all bad, right?" he tried to keep his voice soothing. "There are worse brothels in the city. You get your own apartment. Bonnefoy keeps you fed. I'm trying to _help_ you."

Matthew twisted under his grip, glaring up at him.

"You're a coward." he accused. "You stand by and watch him ruin other people's lives. You're no better than _he_ is."

Lars's eyes went cold. "Just because you don't understand doesn't mean you have the right to say things like that." he informed him testily.

Matthew felt a momentary flash of guilt, but that dissolved when Lars gripped his elbow painfully, pulling him to his feet and out of the room.

When they entered the lobby of the theatre, Matthew balked. He wasn't at all naive, not as naive as Lars seemed to think he was, but when Francis had told them of their _patrons_, Matthew couldn't help but think of them as seedy, shady old me, skulking into the theatre in ill-fitting suits, grabbing at them with greasy hands. It was silly, but who else, Matthew thought, would go to a brothel?

But these were _men_, looking like the kind of men he'd interacted with all his life, the ones who passed him on the street or took his order in a pub. Average, ordinary looking men - young, old, clean-shaven, bearded, sharply dressed or a little shabby - milled around the lobby, but Matthew had never encountered stares like these, smiles like these, as the Dutch man paraded him past on the way up the stairs.

"Hey, don't take him away!" one rowdy client called after them. "Come down and play with us, sweetheart!"

Matthew turned green when the men started laughing. Lars's grip softened to something almost comforting. The younger man looked up and caught the Dutchman's eyes.

"Is it always like this?" he asked softly. Lars looked apologetic.

"You get used to it." he replied, and stopped in front of Francis's office, lifting his hand to knock.

* * *

Prior to this, after watching Matthew jump out of the third story window, Alfred had been apprehended before he could even leave their apartment, wrestled to the ground by a tall, muscular blonde named Berwald and another blonde named Vash (who was holding a shotgun), taken forcibly to Francis's office, and left there. Currently his cheek was stinging; Francis had struck him with the back of his hand, rings on his fingers raising welts. Now the Frenchman was staring coldly at him, arm half-raised as if he was thinking of hitting him again. Alfred sneered at him.

"That all you got?" he asked. "I mean, I know you wear dresses, but I didn't think you were _that_ much of a wimp - "

"I wouldn't keep talking, if I were you." Francis said calmly. "I'm sure your big mouth could be put to better use. I have met very few people who were stupid enough to try and run their first day. You and your brother are obviously one of a kind." Francis's tone was sardonic. "When I find your brother, Alfred, I will beat him within an inch of his life. Then we will see how cocky you are."

A chill of dread ran down Alfred's spine - Francis caught his reaction and smirked. "Ah, does that hit a nerve?" he purred. "Not so easy to be reckless when you have something precious to look after, hm? So the next time the two of you do something foolish, I will know who to punish."

"Don't you dare." Alfred's voice was like ice, when there was a knock on the door. Francis called out for them to come in, and his eyes lit up when Lars and Matthew entered the room.

"Speak of the devil." he chuckled, looking maliciously pleased with himself as Alfred hurried to his brother's side. "Lars, go downstairs. They will join you shortly."

Lars looked uncertainly at Matthew, before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.

"Now," Francis's smile disappeared, and Matthew almost cowered from the Frenchman's stony demeanor. Alfred wrapped an arm around his brother in comfort. "It is late, and paying customers are waiting for what I have promised them. If you two continue to interfere with the earnings of the theatre I promise you, you will regret it. Do you understand me?"

The two brothers didn't say anything. Francis's lip curled.

"_Do you understand me?_" his tone left no room for argument.

"Yes." they eventually muttered, sullenly. Francis didn't smile.

"I will deal with you afterwards." he intoned, more towards Matthew than anyone else. "Now the two of you had better get downstairs and get a client or it will not be just one side of your face that is hurting."

Matthew studied his brother's red cheek with worry in his eyes. Alfred kept a steady glare on his face.

Francis sighed. "Really?" he asked. "Would you like me to force you? Would you like me to call Vash and Berwald back? Vash has been itching to try his new toy out..."

The Frenchman smiled at the sudden trepidation in Alfred's eyes. "Oh, good, there's some sense in you after all." he praised. "Go down to the lobby, and stand together. The clients will approach you, unless you think you will be able to approach them. Ah, but I forget - you are not _good_ at acting, are you?" Francis raised his eyebrows at Alfred, who merely turned his head to smile guardedly at his brother.

"Let's go." he said softly, and led his brother out of the office.

Matthew's hands were trembling. "I can't...I don't think I can go through with this." he whispered to his brother as they walked along the upper hallway that overlooked the lobby. They could hear chatter from downstairs, the clinking of glasses, bursts of brief, bright laughter. Alfred's grip tightened on his brother's shoulders.

"It's okay, Mattie." Alfred soothed. "I'll take care of it. It'll be all right."

Lars was across the lobby when they descended the stairs, head tilted, face relaxed from his earlier hit of cannabis as he listened to a young man chatter nervously in his ear. The man was at least a head shorter than the Dutchman, and Lars spared the brothers a look over his head before returning to his facade of lazy interest. Kateryna was flushing and blushing in the corner, wearing her Mediterranean dress from the performance, as a group of clients fawned over it. The few people the brothers could recognize were spread around the lobby, and though all of them were currently talking to green ticket-holding patrons, there weren't that many clients in the lobby.

"So...we just _stand_ here?" Matthew asked his brother incredulously. Alfred swept his gaze across the lobby.

"Yeah, I guess." he admitted. There was a low table set up along the side of the lobby, covered in a tablecloth and glasses of alcohol. Alfred took two and handed one to his brother. Matthew looked dubiously at it.

"Please drink it." Alfred wheedled. "Maybe it'll help calm you down a little."

"I don't see how it'll help." Matthew grumbled, though he obediently cupped the glass in his hands and took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat on the way down and he made a face. Alfred laughed.

"Look, it won't be so bad," Alfred tried after a few seconds of awkward silence. "We can't..._do_ anything too bad, right? So we'll just put on an act and whoever buys us will get some fucked up pleasure outta it and we'll be all right."

Alfred looked nervous, but Matthew wanted to believe him. He held onto his drink tightly, surveying the room with nervousness. He caught the eyes of a man in the corner, on the outer edge of the group surrounding Kateryna. He was tale, pale-skinned, with a shock of spiky, blonde hair and a wild grin. Matthew averted his eyes - but when he looked back, the man was still staring at him, eyebrows raised. Before he knew what he was doing, Matthew flashed him a hesitant smile.

That was when the man started walking over.

"Alfred!" Matthew hissed. "I think - some guy - _don't look_!"

"Huh?" Alfred asked, turning his head. "What are you talking about?"

Matthew felt like hiding his face as the man stopped in front of them, a strange half-smirk on his face. He was holding his green ticket in a casual way that let the brothers see that he was indeed here for more than just a show

"Hey." he greeted. "I haven't seen you two around before. You new?"

Matthew cast an uncertain glance at his brother, and Alfred nodded, face guarded, shifting so his body was slightly turned away.

"Yes." he said. "We just started. I'm Alfred, and this is my brother, Matthew."

Matthew nodded. "Hello." he greeted. The man's grin widened.

"I'm Mikkel." he replied, voice thick with an accent Matthew couldn't place, and continued to smile as if expecting something.

"Wh-where are you from?" Matthew spoke up softly after a brief lapse in conversation. "Your accent, it's..."

"It's that noticeable?" Mikkel asked, amused. "I'm from Denmark, but I haven't been there in a while, I didn't think I sounded that bad anymore."

"You don't sound bad!" Matthew hastened to assure him. "I - I was just curious."

"Yeah?" Mikkel looked him over with interest. "Me too. You free?"

"We come together." Alfred cut in, watching Mikkel suspiciously. If anything, Mikkel looked _more_ interested.

"How much?" he asked.

"You'll have to discuss that with Madam." Alfred recited diligently, adding after a beat, "The most we do is oral."

"Oh, really?" Mikkel wrinkled his nose, looking as if he was reconsidering. Matthew hoped fervently that he would.

But eventually the Dane smiled. "Why not?" he asked. "Come on, let's go see your boss."

Mikkel motioned for them to follow him, about two paces behind. Alfred reached out to touch his brother's shoulder in comfort. "It'll be all right." he repeated softly. Matthew didn't answer him.

They stood outside the office, trying to catch snippets of Mikkel's conversation with Francis. At the most, they could hear Francis telling Mikkel the same thing Alfred had told him; Mikkel's brief attempt to barter for more, Francis's refusal, and Mikkel's eventual payment (the brothers exchanged glances at the amount - it was quite substantial). When Mikkel came back out of the office, his smile was more predatory.

"Aren't you going to show me to your room?" he asked.

On the way back to their apartment, Matthew couldn't help but feel Mikkel's eyes on him, watching him walk. When they stopped in front of their door so that Alfred could fumble for the key, Matthew almost jumped when he felt Mikkel put a hand on his hip. Matthew turned his head slightly, almost fearfully.

"You're not what I usually get." Mikkel told him in a low, amused voice. Matthew forced a laugh.

"I hope we don't disappoint." he managed. Mikkel chuckled in his ear.

"Me too." he said, and dared to bite the shell of Matthew's ear. Matthew made a little noise, and his brother turned his head with an acidic glare.

"At least wait until we get inside." Alfred snapped, and Mikkel withdrew with a raised eyebrow.

"Whatever you say." he drawled. He didn't remove his hand. Within the apartment, Matthew saw that the broken window had been covered, a bed-sheet securely tacked to the frame, and the glass swept up. Mikkel, who was giving the inside of the apartment a brief sweeping glance, either didn't notice this fashion arrangement or didn't choose to comment.

As soon as all three of them were inside the apartment, Mikkel's grip tightened and he said pleasantly, "I'm done waiting." Before Matthew could react Mikkel spun him around, grabbed his face and kissed him. His teeth scraped against Matthew's lower lip and Matthew ground his teeth together to prevent from pushing away.

_It'll be all right_, he repeated his brother's words to himself, squeezing his eyes shut as Mikkel took over with sure, practiced confidence, biting at his lip. He prodded Matthew backwards so he stumbled over his brother, towards their double bed. Mikkel broke away to push Matthew down on the bed, removed his jacket, and started fiddling with his belt. Matthew's stomach turned in sick anticipation.

Alfred, a desperate look in his eyes, stepped up behind Mikkel and slid a tentative hand around his shoulders.

"What do you want us to do?" he asked in a low voice. Mikkel lightly shrugged his arm off.

"I want you to suck my cock." he told Matthew, pointedly, pulling his zipper down. Matthew almost swallowed his tongue.

"M-_me_?!" he repeated, trembling. "I - I don't - "

"He's not very good at it." Alfred said quickly, putting his hand back on Mikkel's shoulder with a bit more force. "Try me, I promise I'll make it worth your while..."

Mikkel caught Alfred's wrist and examined him briefly, a hungry sneer twisting the corners of his mouth.

"I want your brother to do it." he said simply, and pushed Alfred over to the bed, adding with a sneer, "You can suck _his_ cock, if you're that desperate for it."

Matthew exchanged a panicked glance with his brother. Alfred sifted a hand into Matthew's hair.

"Come on." he said to Mikkel in a low voice, the closest he ever got to pleading. "He's - he's just a kid, give him a break..."

Mikkel was impassive, one hand stroking himself through his trousers, eyebrows raised. "I paid good money for this." he said. "And I want your brother to suck me off. Get it?"

Matthew finally nodded, stiffly, and stifled a yelp when Mikkel knotted his free hand in the youth's hair, forcing him forward on the bed. Matthew scrabbled against the covers for balance. Alfred shoved himself backwards, a pained look on his face as he watched the man pull his brother to his crotch.

"Shit." Alfred swore, and got on his knees beside the bed, gripping his brother's hand tight. "It's okay Mattie, just go slow..."

Mikkel grunted as Matthew slid a tentative hand around his cock, which was jutting angrily from the fly of Mikkel's trousers, at attention and already leaking. Matthew had...touched himself, when he was younger and curious, but this felt so bizarre, holding another man like this. Mikkel stared down at him, features twisted in impatience.

"Hurry it up." he told Matthew, and the boy nodded hesitantly, leaning forward until he was almost touching the tip of Mikkel's arousal. Matthew parted his lips and slid his mouth down around Mikkel's cock. He felt like he was watching this from somewhere else, like he was perched on the light fixture watching himself give a Danish stranger a blowjob. When he looked back on it, he couldn't even remember what Mikkel initially tasted like - just that it was a foreign, fleshy weight on his tongue, with maybe a salty, faintly bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Now that it was in his mouth, Matthew wasn't quite sure what to do with it - he settled for slowly dropping his head, allowing more and more of the man's arousal into his mouth. The Dane had a substantial erection, and Matthew was worrying about how it would all fit.

Mikkel let out a slow, measured exhalation, and his hips twitched upwards. The sudden, if minute, thrust was enough to make Matthew panic, and he let go of his brother's hand in favor of lightly grasping the Danish man's hips. Mikkel let out a grunt, and slid his other hand into Matthew's hair, fingernails rasping over his scalp.

"Just take it easy." Alfred was whispering by his side, stroking a tentative hand over his brother's tensed shoulders. "You're okay, you're okay..."

Matthew chanced a glance upwards - he locked eyes with Mikkel, who was flushed and raggedly breathing. The man's hands cupped downwards, towards Matthew's face, and the blond broke eye contact, intent on taking this one step at a time.

He probably shouldn't have looked down. Mikkel snarled, "I can't wait this long!", grabbed Matthew by the back of his skull and shoved him forward. Matthew choked, eyes stinging, as Mikkel buried himself down Matthew's throat, rendering the youth unable to breathe, gagging.

"Hey!" Alfred leapt up once he saw his brother's discomfort and tried to push Mikkel away.

Mikkel shook him off easily, sending Matthew's brother tumbling to the ground, and snapped, "I _paid_ for this, sit down."

Matthew grabbed onto Mikkel's trouser leg, and the Dane eventually released him. Matthew coughed, wetly, into the covers of the bed, scrambling for breath and fighting the urge to throw up. When Mikkel sat down beside him, Matthew pushed away, trembling as he tried to regain an even breathing.

"Hey, hey, kid." Now Mikkel's tone was falsely smooth and sweet, and he ran a hand through the youth's hair like he was some kind of house cat. "Sorry I got a little rough on you. Bonnefoy hasn't had newbies around in a while, I forgot that you needed some time."

Matthew couldn't speak, shuddering as he forced himself to talk.

"Th-that's all right." he croaked and Mikkel smiled, let his hand drop so he was running fingers over Matthew's earlobe in what Matthew supposed was a comforting gesture.

"C'mon." he said encouragingly, settling himself down on the bed. "I'll show you how to do it. Sit up, come on."

Matthew allowed himself to be prodded into place by this suddenly jovial man with his cock still hanging out of his pants. Once the blond was facing him, Mikkel smiled.

"Okay, kid, now just put your face down on my lap. Got it?" he asked. "We'll go nice and slow this time, promise."

"Promise?" Matthew repeated dubiously and Mikkel laughed.

"Just suck me off." he ordered, sifting fingers through Matthew's hair again. His grip was relaxed, but the implication was there - obediently Matthew lowered himself down again, guided gently by the hand at the back of his skull, to take Mikkel's cock in his mouth. At least he had learned from his disastrous first try; now the sensation of having something of this size and weight in his mouth was not new to him, and Matthew made sure to keep his throat relaxed in case Mikkel suddenly decided to take the shortcut again. He kept his eyes closed, focused on taking Mikkel deeper into his mouth, and almost choked of his own volition when he felt the flared glans press down into his throat. Above him, Mikkel groaned.

"Shit, your throat is so tight." he muttered under his breath. "You're gonna be a natural...hey golden boy...yeah you, you wanna make it "worth my while"? C'mere."

Matthew heard movement off to the side and then wet sounds above his head - if he had looked up he would have seen Alfred and Mikkel kissing.

He didn't want to look up.

Mikkel's hips were moving with the bobs of Matthew's head, rising up to meet him, forcing Matthew to take him down faster. Matthew's nose had hit Mikkel's pubic hair and his throat was starting to seize up. Mikkel didn't look like he was planning on stopping anytime soon, examining Matthew with lazy half-interest as he ran an inquisitive hand down the length of Alfred's body. Alfred's eyes met his brother's and they shared a horrified _what do we do?_ look.

When Matthew hit the root of Mikkel's cock he held himself there, ignoring Mikkel's twitching hips and his demands of, "What the fuck are you _stopping_ for, kid?" Then he forced his burning throat to swallow around Mikkel, pulling and squeezing with his muscles as best he could.

Mikkel nearly doubled over, a groan tearing itself from his mouth. If Matthew reached up he could feel the fluttering of the Dane's abdomen muscles as he struggled to hold himself together.

"So tight." he muttered. "_Fuck_ that's good..."

Matthew did it again, for good measure, and increased the speed of his sucking - Mikkel was bucking under Matthew's mouth, snarling something unintelligible into his hair. It didn't take long before Mikkel grabbed Matthew's head and held it still, barking out something in Danish as his cock twitched and jumped in Matthew's mouth. Warmth at the back of his throat and the same almost-bitterness from before was the only warning Matthew got before Mikkel pulled out and left him gasping around a mouthful of ejaculate. He wanted to wash his mouth out, throw up, do _something_ to get Mikkel's semen out of his mouth and out of his memory, but Mikkel hauled him up and kissed him almost fondly on the temple.

"You weren't half bad." he praised, as if that would somehow make Matthew feel good about himself and what he'd just done. The Dane didn't stick around for formalities - in thirty seconds he'd zipped himself up, retrieved his jacket, and was out of the apartment without much of a goodbye. As soon as the door shut, Matthew threw himself off the bed, into the bathroom, and spat into the sink, retching and hiccoughing in his panic. Alfred followed him with a pained look on his face as he watched his brother cupping water in his hands to wash away the taste.

Matthew's eyes met Alfred's in the mirror.

"I'm so sorry." Alfred said awkwardly. "I - "

Matthew turned and embraced his brother, turning his head away so Alfred couldn't see how upset he was.

"I feel so dirty." he rasped out through gritted teeth and Alfred clutched at him.

"Don't." he said sharply. "This - this isn't your fault okay? _He's_ the dirty one, for - for doing this to you." He stepped back, tried to get his brother to look at him.

"You were real brave." he told Matthew. "It's going to be okay. You're safe now, and he's not gonna come back. All right?"

"I don't believe you." Matthew said quietly and Alfred had to smile sadly at his little brother.

"Yeah, I know." he replied. "But it makes _me_ feel a little better, at least."

* * *

_END CHAPTER FOUR_

* * *

**Notes:**

_The Orange Room_ - a reference to the House of Orange-Nassau, a family of nobility; William I of Orange was responsible for leading the Dutch revolt against Spanish rule; William III married Mary II of England and together they took part in the "Glorious Revolution" of 1688, becoming joint rulers of England, Ireland, and Scotland until Mary's death.

_A note on cannabis?_ - Cannabis was totally the favourite child of the drug world around this time. Some people suggested using cannabis as a replacement for alcohol because people "didn't get violent" when they smoked cannabis so men wouldn't beat their wives when they were high as opposed to when they were drunk (?!). Also, in the U.S. during the 1860s, _Maple Hasheesh Candy_ was sold over the countertop and was perfectly lovely, delicious candy! Hooray!

_A note on Lars?_ - I know everybody is probably so tired of Netherlands being characterized as a druggie, but that sort of lifestyle was common - it was still that age where drugs were a "gentleman's choice", or a "miracle of science". I was debating using opium, but this was the beginning of a period when people started injecting morphine and heroin rather than smoking the opiate at home (though opium dens were definitely alive and kicking!), and I felt less confident in my knowledge of injecting drugs than I am in my knowledge of smoking drugs. Also, cannabis was used for an aphrodisiac, too D: Which definitely helps in this business, I guess??

_A note on Mikkel?_ - I'm seriously not hating on Denmark. I like Denmark! I feel like such a dick for making him...such a dick.

**Author's Note:** If you're still reading this story...that's pretty amazing! Sorry for the monthless update - I'll try to do better! Thanks for reading!


	6. The Morning After

**Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled (Chapter Five)  
**Author:** tatterdemalion  
**Characters:** in this chapter - America, Canada, France, Prussia, Ukraine, Greece  
**Rating:** probably PG-15 for this chapter, but overall this story will be rated M.  
**Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.

**Note:** You know that long gap in between the last chapter and this one? Yeah. I really have no excuse. And this chapter isn't particularly exciting either, but it's got some ~**~~*~FoReShAdOwInG~*~~**~ and junk.  
Haha I feel like I'm fourteen, that's lame.

Also, thank you x1 000 000 000 to_ o0litodreamer0o_ on livejournal for beta-ing!

* * *

"_Come on, I'll show you how to do it_..."

"_Hey hey kid...sorry I got a little rough on you_..."

"_So tight_..."

Matthew shot up in bed, heart racing, head pounding, gripping the sheets in his fists so hard he could feel his nails against his palms. He could hear the sounds of Alfred at the door, arguing with someone.

"...and you can tell Bonnefoy, if he wants to see us, he can come up himself. Until then, he can go _fuck himself_." There was the sharp sound of the door slamming. Matthew winced.  
"Al," he called, sitting up in the bed. In a few seconds his brother, hair still uncombed from sleep, appeared at the doorway, shivering a little. The window, though covered, was not too insulating on such a chilly morning.

"Morning!" Alfred greeted, voice and smile too cheerful to be sincere. "Sorry if I woke you up!"

"Alfie, you shouldn't try to make him angry." Matthew told him. Alfred huffed and gave a sheepish grin, pulling absently at the hem of his undershirt.

"I know." he admitted. "But hey! Are you feeling all right?"

Matthew forced a smile. "Yeah." he lied, and felt a pang of guilt at the relief that blossomed on Alfred's face.

"Okay, good!" he ruffled his younger brother's hair. "I think there's some bread still in the cupboard and we might have some coffee...you want that?"

Matthew swallowed his nausea. "S-sure. Thanks," he muttered as his brother bounded out of the room towards the kitchen.

Matthew lay back down, rolled over on his side with one arm curled under his head. He had a horrible headache, and the taste in the back of his mouth was making him feel sick. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel hands on the back of his head, urging him, holding him down... _make it worth my while...c'mere_, Alfred, no - !

When Francis let himself into the apartment, Matthew was retching in the bathroom; Alfred welcomed him by shifting his grip on the coffeepot like he was considering throwing it at the Frenchman's head (which would've have been an unfortunate choice on the boy's part, as Francis was quite fond of the dress he was wearing).

"_Mes fils_," Francis said cheerfully once Matthew had emerged back into the bedroom, looking pale. "I hope you are both well this morning?"

The brothers stared at him. "You've got to be kidding me." Alfred said. Francis talked over him.

"Your client came to me _specifically_ to say how pleased he was with the both of you." the Frenchman informed them. "He said he enjoyed your _act_."

"What act?" Matthew wanted to know. Francis smiled.

"Your virgin act, my dear."

"That _wasn't_ an act!" Matthew exclaimed, horrified. How could anyone think he was acting after that? Was that what Mikkel was thinking when he was easing Matthew's mouth down onto his cock? That he was just putting on an act for him, playing hard to get? Matthew felt his stomach twist again.

"I know." Francis soothed. "Dear heart, don't be upset...here." despite Matthew's protests he drew a matronly arm around the youth's shoulders, pulling him to his feet. "I can't tell you how pleased I am with you, my dear. Come with me to the kitchen; I will show you what I used to make for my throat in the mornings when I was...ah, less than experienced, shall we say?"

He helped Matthew up - the boy's ankle was still sore after the jump from the window, but nothing seemed broken - and together they moved slowly into the kitchen.

Alfred followed them, eyes narrowed. "What are you giving him?" he asked. Francis turned from where he was perusing their cupboards.

"Not _coffee_." the Frenchman shot back dryly. "Not for his throat _or_ his stomach, not right now. Some warmed up milk with honey will do you well, my dear." he added to Matthew, who was leaning against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"'M fine." he insisted, even as Francis warmed the milk in a pan, drizzling in the honey with graceful precision. Matthew couldn't help staring. "D-do you cook, Madam?" he asked. Francis looked up at him, raising his eyebrows.

"I can cook, a little," Francis admitted, stirring the milk to stop it from skimming. "Do you have a mug, Mathieu?"

Matthew held one out to him, watched him pour the hot milk concoction. With a hesitant smile of thanks, Matthew raised it to his lips, watching Francis pile the dishes into the sink, lifting his skirt with one hand. It was oddly bizarre, watching the usually flamboyant Frenchman in such a calm, serene scenario. The liquid felt good against his throat, and it was delicious - Matthew would've finished it all at once if it wasn't so hot.

"Now, we should discuss your punishment," Francis began, leaning against the counter. Alfred instinctively moved closer to his brother, preparing for the worst.

"A few members of this theatre managed to convince me against being too hard on the two of you." the Frenchman informed them. "But it is clear that leaving the two of you alone together was a bad idea."

A glance in the direction of the covered window – Alfred was starting to get suspicious.

"Until we can get this fixed up," Francis continued, "You will be rooming with someone else."

Alfred relaxed, a little bit. "Who are we staying with?" he asked. Francis smiled.

"Gilbert has kindly offered to let Matthew stay with him, and - "

"Wait, what?" Matthew demanded. "You're splitting us up?"

Francis looked mildly puzzled, as if he had expected another reaction. "_Mais oui_," he confirmed. "Just look what happens when you two stay together, unsupervised."

The brothers exchanged a panicked look.

"When can we stay together again?" Matthew wanted to know. Francis's smile was falsely sweet.

"Why, however long it takes to fix your window." he replied, glancing at Alfred.

Alfred knew it wasn't about the window. He knew that when Francis said that, he meant, '_However long it takes for the two of you to stop wanting to escape_'.  
The sooner they gave up, the sooner their window would be "fixed".

Matthew was looking worriedly over at his brother. "Alfred?" he asked quietly.

"I don't want Matt staying with that guy." Alfred told Francis, who merely shrugged.

"I might remind you that you don't really have a say in that at all. Besides," here the Frenchman turned to Matthew with a smile on his face, "I believe Gilbert has taken a liking to you, my dear."

Alfred scowled. Matthew went pale.

"My brother and I are staying together!" Alfred told the Frenchman angrily. "Didn't you say we were an act? How can we be an _act_ if we're going to be separated?"

"You'll entertain together in the evenings." Francis pointed out. "But in the daytime I think it would be best for the two of you to stay apart."

Alfred met Matthew's eyes, and the younger of the two shook his head. They both knew there was no sense arguing.

With both of them staring at him, Alfred caved.

"Who am I staying with, then?" he grumbled.

"Ah, _mon petit_, you are lucky! You get to stay with me!" Francis trilled, wrapping a tight arm around the elder brother's shoulders. Matthew cringed sympathetically.

"No." Alfred intoned murderously. "No way."

Francis squeezed his shoulder. "Again," he pointed out, "This is not a discussion. Get your things together and I will bring you downstairs."

Matthew moved immediately into the bedroom, almost eager to leave the place that held such bad memories, but Francis held Alfred back.

"What, do you want a thank you?" the blond spat. Francis looked a little irritated.

"You are lucky that this is all I am punishing you with." the Frenchman remarked. "If you care about your brother, then this will be the last time you attempt something like this."

"The next time I "attempt something like this"," Alfred mimicked childishly, "My brother and I will be far away from here, and we _won't_ be coming back."

Francis's thumb rubbed a painful circle into the muscles of Alfred's shoulder, his cool smile never changing.

"That is why I like you so much my dear," the older man's voice was suggestive. "You are so _fiery_."

"Al, come help me!" Matthew called from the other room, and Alfred was quick to detach himself from Francis and exit the kitchen. Francis leaned on the counter, one hand wrapped around the mug that held the half-drunk milk, and allowed himself a slow, private smile.

Too easy.

* * *

They left the apartment and followed Francis down what Alfred would later mockingly refer to as "the walk of shame". As it was late morning, most of the other members of the brothels were up - apartment doors had been left wide open, their occupants visiting others or cleaning up after the previous night, or simply hanging around in the hallway talking, and most stopped their conversations to watch as Matthew and Alfred, each carrying their armfuls of clothes and other necessities, were led past them. Matthew kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, a blush staining his face. Alfred had the audacity to wave at a few of them.  
On the second floor, Francis stopped in front of one of the doors and rapped sharply on the wood. When there was no answer, Francis drew a key from where it was hidden in the folds of his skirts and fit it into the door.

Brothers in tow, the Frenchman flung the door open with a sharp, "Gilbert!_Leves-toi_! You have a guest!"

The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn - the covers on the bed stirred and Matthew hung back, nervous, as Francis strode forward and ripped the blanket from the bed.

Gilbert, splayed out across the mattress, lashed out, kicking at the Frenchman irritably.

"_Christ_, Bonnefoy!" Matthew heard him snarl. Francis dodged the limb effortlessly.

"Come now, my friend, you cannot be that tired!" Francis teased. "Your client did not stay _that_ long!"

"Just because some fat guy's premature doesn't mean that I can't be tired." Gilbert grumbled, adding with a groan, "_Gott_, my head..."

"With how much alcohol that "fat guy" gave you, I am surprised that you were able to stick it in him in the first place." Francis remarked crudely, grabbing Gilbert by the underpants and attempting to pull him out of bed. "But never mind that, I've brought you a guest."

"What?" Gilbert looked up, and locked eyes with Matthew. A grin slid across his features and Matthew stiffened. Quickly the pale haired man sat up in bed, raking a hand through his hair. "Oh, right!" he crowed. "Gotcha. I remember."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Francis said, backing away from the bed and clapping a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Be a dear and light the lamps for him. He stumbles when he's hung over."

As if to prove his point, Gilbert cursed and disappeared over the side of the bed.

Alfred and Francis were gone without much of a goodbye (if by goodbye on Alfred's part you could count the one where he promised to be back and "be a hero!"), and Matthew was left standing in the foyer of Gilbert's apartment. Mechanically he walked over to light the lamps, as had been suggested, and then went around the side of the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked Gilbert quietly, kneeling by his head - the older man was lying sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

"Fuck, kid, I'm trying to go back to sleep." Gilbert's voice was muffled against the carpet.

"Wouldn't the bed be better for that?" Matthew wanted to know.

"Shut up." Gilbert told him. "If you want to be helpful, start making some coffee. I'll be up in a minute."

Sighing, Matthew did as he was told, standing and picking up the blankets from the floor as he went. The area around the bed was a mess - between the empty alcohol bottles and glasses on the floor and the knocked over lamp, it looked like it had been a rough night. Matthew didn't want to think about it.

When Matthew finally turned from the stove with a pot of hot coffee, he jumped - Gilbert was sitting casually, fully dressed, at the kitchen table, hair sticking up in stray tufts. When he stretched the bones in his shoulders crackled.

"When did you get there?" Matthew gasped, fetching Gilbert a mug. The pale-haired man shrugged, yawning.

"A couple of minutes ago. You were humming." Gilbert pointed out with an annoying grin, chin propped up on his hand. Matthew flushed.

"What song was that?" Gilbert wanted to know. "That you were humming."

Matthew placed the pot and mug down on the table. "Doesn't matter." he muttered - it was an old song from his childhood, that one of the Native women used to sing to him and his brother - an old song, about a bird who wanted to fly higher than all the other birds. Sometimes Matthew felt like that, felt like trying to stretch himself so high that he could get out of this, out of everything, the lying the stealing the pick-pocketing...everything.  
Gilbert was already pouring some coffee, song forgotten. Matthew sighed and poked around in the cupboard to find something to eat. Nibbling on a biscuit, he closed the cupboard to see Gilbert staring at him again.

"What?" he asked crossly, before he could stop himself. A grin appeared on Gilbert's face.

"So?" he prompted. "Aren't you going to make me breakfast?"

"...Why would I do that?" Matthew wanted to know. Gilbert propped his feet up on the table.

"'Cause you're staying in _my_ apartment!" he declared. "So you should be cooking me breakfast!"

"I don't _want_ to stay with you." Matthew pointed out. "So I shouldn't feel obligated to make you anything."

"Hey, kid." Gilbert rose to his feet, eyes flashing with irritation and a trace of amusement. "Bonnefoy put you here as _punishment_, got it? This isn't gonna be some walk in the park for you. Now make us some fucking breakfast."

For a moment they stared each other down - Matthew willed his knees not to shake. Finally, he ground his teeth.

"What do you want?" he asked slowly, and scowled at Gilbert's triumphant grin.

"There's a griddle in the cupboard," Gilbert pointed out. "I want pancakes!"

Matthew's mouth dropped open. "Pancakes?" he repeated. Gilbert nodded.

"Yeah - what, you don't know how to make them?"

"Of course I know how to make them!" Matthew exclaimed, stung. "But do you have anything to put on them?"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked confused. "Uh...I have some jam."

Matthew wrinkled his nose. "Jam? On pancakes?"

"What's wrong with that?" the pale-haired man demanded. Matthew shook his head.

"Nothing. Never mind. Do you have any bowls?"

Gilbert rose from the table in order to help Matthew gather the ingredients - then he returned to his seat, propping his feet up on the table, watching Matthew intently as he worked. Matthew had found an apron somewhere in the mess of the small kitchen, and slipped it on over his clothes (it wouldn't do, he reasoned, to get his clothes dirty and find himself deeper in debt with Madam). Gilbert snickered at this.

"I've got my very own _housewife_." he teased. Matthew felt his face go red and ignored the older man in favour of keeping watch on the cooking pancakes.

"Can you get some plates, please?" Matthew finally asked when Gilbert made no move to help. With a sigh, Gilbert made a show of standing up and sauntering over to the cupboard. When he passed, he tugged on Matthew's apron strings.

"Looks cute on you." he appraised. "You should wear it often when you're here, okay?"

Matthew swatted him away - laughing, Gilbert tucked the plates under his arm, twirled one of Matthew's curls around his finger, and reached around the younger boy to rifle in a drawer for cutlery. Matthew's eye twitched and he used his hip to push Gilbert away from him.

"Cut it out." he muttered sourly, earning himself another laugh from the older man.

"Don't be so _uptight_." Gilbert told him simply. "Those pancakes done yet?"

Inside, Matthew was fuming. _Egotistical, selfish **jerk**_, he snapped maliciously in his head, loading the pancakes onto a plate and slamming them down on the table.

"Here," he declared, adding sarcastically, "Want me to _curtsy_ for you, too??"

To his horror, Gilbert actually seemed to be considering it - quickly Matthew sat down and reached for his plate before the other man could say anything.

Throughout breakfast, Matthew found himself glancing at Gilbert, and wondering. What was he doing here? Why was he performing these types of services? He didn't seem "the type" at all (if there _was_ a type for male European prostitutes at all, which Matthew doubted).

Gilbert, catching him looking, set down his fork. "Spit it out." he prompted brusquely. "Or are you just admiring me?"

Matthew spluttered his indignation and Gilbert looked pleased. "Yeah, I know I'm too awesome to keep your eyes off me." he bragged. "But just try."

"You _jerk_, I wasn't doing _that_!" Matthew exclaimed, before hesitating. "I - I was wondering why you became a, a..."

"Prostitute?" Gilbert finished brusquely. "_That_ would be none of your damn business. Finish eating, we've got stuff to do."

The change in the other man's demeanour was startling - Matthew didn't know what else to say, settling for lowering his head and working on the rest of his breakfast. A sour frown graced Gilbert's face, as he too concentrated on eating.

After a few moments, Matthew spoke up. "I - I'm sorry." he apologized. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Gilbert studied him for a second, almost impressed by the open honesty in the youth's voice.  
"Yeah, whatever." he grunted. "Just be lucky I'm in a good mood right now, huh?"

Matthew scowled, picking up his plate and carrying it to the sink. Gilbert watched him go with a smile on his face.

* * *

Alfred wasn't sure _what_ he should be feeling as Francis led him up the stairs and into his office. There was a pause as the Frenchman took out his keys and fit it into the door that stood behind his office desk. Alfred flexed his fingers against the armful of clothing he was carrying. Wordlessly, Francis opened the door and ushered him inside.

Francis's quarters were smaller than Alfred and Matthew's apartment, but stylishly furnished. Francis pointed at the settee.

"Put your things there." he ordered. "And try to fold them, my dear, it looks unsightly to be leaving them in a pile like that."

Alfred ground his teeth as he attempted to messily fold his clothing. After watching him for a few seconds, Francis let his breath out noisily through his nose to express his displeasure and prodded the young man aside, holding out a shirt and snapping the wrinkles out.

"However did you and your brother manage on your own?" he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"We did just fine by ourselves." Alfred said icily. "There're more important things then foldin' clothes, you know."

Francis, surprised, turned to look at him. "Why of course." he agreed, "I never said there weren't. Now, _mon cher_, have you eaten yet?"

Alfred reluctantly admitted he hadn't - Francis looked pleased before a sly look appeared in his eye.

"I will make you something." he informed him. "Then you can get to work."

Alfred had a petulant frown on his face. "My brother and I already worked last night." he protested. "Why do we have to work _today_, too?"

Francis studied him. "Hm, oh my, I see what you're trying to do!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"Huh?" Alfred stared. Francis backed him up against the settee, putting a hand on the younger blond's elbow.

"Do not be shy." Francis cooed. "Since you insisted, we will stay here and...work out any _tenseness_ in our relationship, mm? In the best way possible, of course."

He revelled in the way Alfred's face darkened. "What the hell?" Alfred spat, struggling against the Frenchman. "Let go of me!"

Francis's hand was stroking lazy patterns up and down his arm and Alfred wrenched it from his grip, hitting the edge of the settee with a dull thud.

Francis, a lazy smirk on his face, asked, "Or would you rather go downstairs and work?"

Alfred jumped away from the older man. "I don't want to be anywhere _near_you!"

"Oh, good, then you will work?" Francis asked innocently, taking great pleasure in Alfred's facial expressions. Alfred didn't even need to consider this - give in and work was a much better option than remaining in a room with this man.

"Yeah, yeah." he grumbled, and brushed past Francis before he could see that triumphant smirk. If Matthew wasn't injured, Alfred would have been planning an escape again, whether or not he and his brother were together. He made a promise to get them out, and he kept all promises he made to his brother.

Alfred remembered Valletta, and the smell of a dead man's blood.

No matter how hard it was for him, he _always_ kept his promises to his brother.

Alfred and Francis didn't talk much, when Francis sat him down at the table with a hot breakfast. When Alfred chanced a glance at the Frenchman's face, he wore a peculiar expression, almost like fond nostalgia. It was a side of the Frenchman that was awkward to see, and Alfred concentrated on his food instead.

When he looked up again, Francis had his chin propped up on his hand, amusement in his eyes.

"Do you like it?" he teased. Alfred looked down at his plate. It was empty.

"Uh, sure." he said. "It was really good."

"I imagine you do not often eat like this," Francis mused, gathering Alfred's plate and cutlery. "Living as you and your brother did before. It flatters me that you would so whole-heartedly enjoy yourself."

Alfred shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Food is food." he offered. "I don't turn down food if I can help it."

Francis's smile was close-mouthed - a sign, Alfred recognized, of impatience. He wondered what the Frenchman was waiting for.

Francis instructed Alfred to get dressed while he cleaned up after breakfast. Alfred grabbed a clean pair of trousers and a shirt and went into Francis's bedroom to get changed. Despite it being Francis's private quarters, the bedroom looked like any other in the brothel - small, impersonal, no personal stylistic touches. There was, however, a photograph on the bedside table, in a simple metal frame. It was of a man in a dark suit, staring directly at the camera with a sort of disgruntled look on his face. Despite his formal dress his hair was unruly, and his thick eyebrows were drawn unflatteringly over his eyes. Alfred tilted his head, picking up the picture. He didn't look familiar - was he a patron at the brothel? Did he work here? Or was he someone Francis knew before, when he was in France?

Musing, Alfred turned to realize Francis was standing in the doorway, watching him.

"If you do not hurry and get dressed," Francis pointed out, his voice detached and airy, "I will end up having to give you a very distasteful job."

Alfred hurriedly put down the photograph and struggled into his shirt, before pushing past Francis to find his shoes. The Frenchman stepped into the room, picked up the frame, and studied it for a moment.

Then he opened the drawer on his bedside table and placed the photograph face down in the drawer before closing it again.

* * *

By the time dinner rolled around, Alfred and Matthew were absolutely exhausted. Their paths had barely crossed all day - Matthew had been in charge of cleaning the costumes from the previous performance, while Alfred got stuck with base cleaning jobs. If he hadn't been so tired he would've suspected Francis was doing it on purpose, the way the Frenchman was sending him around to all of these jobs. Currently Francis was being excitedly led around by Feliciano, who was showing him the new equipment they'd recently gotten for the theatre - new pulleys, someone installing better supports for the catwalk - it was really a wonder the old theatre hadn't fallen down yet.

Alfred pushed himself to his feet (he'd been crouched under the seats for God knows how long, trying to scrape up something stuck to the floor), and surveyed the theatre. Matthew and Kateryna, arms full of costumes, were making their way across the stage - when Matthew caught his brother's eye he smiled in lieu of a wave, and Alfred waved back. Seeing that Francis was distracted, Alfred left the row of seats and made his way up and behind the stage.

Matthew and Kateryna had disappeared somewhere into the back rooms - there was a whole mess of them behind the stage, it was almost like the catacombs of a tomb. Alfred didn't like going back there, unless accompanied by a member of the troupe.

Still, he could hear his brother's voice as he dropped something ("Oh shoot, Miss Kateryna, I'm really sorry - !" "That's all right Matthew, they're dry enough that they won't dirty..."), and Alfred set off after the voice.

It took him two minutes to get lost. Somehow he'd found himself at the very back of the theatre, where the old equipment was kept, too broken to be salvaged but maybe valuable enough to be pawned off. Alfred wiped the dirt off an old cracked mirror and thought about retracing his steps.

"Who are you?"

Alfred jumped, slamming into a lamp without a shade. There was someone curled up neatly on top of a cupboard with a broken door, a rather good looking man with sleepy eyes, dark Mediterranean features and a thick head of wavy brown hair.

"Shit." Alfred sneezed from the dust he'd kicked up. "You scared me!"

"Sorry." the man hopped down, brushing off his trousers. "Nobody comes in here, usually. It's a good place to take a nap."

"Oh." there was an awkward pause. "I'm Alfred." he said finally.

"I know." the man replied. "Everybody knows who you are. And your brother, too. I'm Heracles. I work here."

"...here as in the theatre, or here as in...."

"I'm a prostitute." was Heracles' simple response. "If that was what you were going for?"

"Y-yeah," Alfred admitted sheepishly. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too." Heracles rose and stretched with a languid arch of his back. "Did you need something?"

"I was trying to find my brother," Alfred explained. "But then I got lost."

Heracles raised his eyebrows, amused. "It happens," he assured him. "I'll show you back to the theatre, if you like?"

"Thanks!" Alfred exclaimed, relieved. As Heracles led the way, he added, "What floor do you live on, Heracles?"

"First floor." was the brunet's answer. Looking back over his shoulder, he continued, "The Empire Room. I dress up in a toga a lot. There are some olive branches involved as well."  
"Oh." Alfred frowned. "And...people _like_ that?"

Heracles gave a lazy shrug. "I'm popular enough. Besides, people who like to fantasize are very easy to please."

At Alfred's confused look, the brunet shook his head. "Never mind." he said with a casual wave of his hand. "You'll find out, soon enough."

Alfred met up with Matthew once Heracles had led him back to the stage - the dark haired man said goodbye, before making his way over to where Kateryna was hurriedly coiling rope around her arm into a loop.

Unfortunately Gilbert chose that time to come up behind Matthew and slap him across the shoulders.

"We gotta get back to the room before the customers arrive!" Gilbert said. "You're making dinner, right?"

To Alfred's surprise, his usually polite brother _scowled_ at the older man. "I made breakfast." Matthew pointed out.

"Yeah, so, logically," Gilbert pointed out, "You should be the one making dinner as well. Since we have established that you can cook."

He grinned at the look Matthew gave him. "Not just a handsome face." he proclaimed proudly, then grabbed the blond's elbow. "Chit chat later, I'm starving."

"Wait - " Matthew shot his brother a pleading look as he was dragged away. "Al, I'll see you later!"

"Oh, yeah," Gilbert added as he led the boy to the back apartments. "The boss says, if you and your brother get a customer tonight, to bring them back to your old room. I don't want you hanging around tonight for my customers."

"Customers?" Matthew repeated with a nervous laugh. "More than one?"

"Well, yeah. How else am I going to make money, squirt? I can't make money off one person a night anymore, unless they pay big. And have you seen the fuckers that come around this place? They aren't what I would call high rollers."

Matthew flushed. "I really wouldn't know." he muttered, pushing his way into the apartment and through to the kitchen. Gilbert followed him at a casual amble.

"I had the feeling." he laughed. "Has Madam put you on the training wheels program?" At Matthew's confused frown, he elaborated with a casual tone, "Clothed or unclothed touching, fetish requests, oral and handjob. No penetration allowed. Right? Bonnefoy practically has that written out, if you want to see it."

"Does everyone follow that, when they start?" Matthew wanted to know as he pulled a pot from the cupboard. Gilbert shrugged.

"It depends on their experience. Most of the whores here have previous experience. We have this one girl, from Belgium." a slow smirk spread across Gilbert's face at the recollection. "You'll have to meet her kid, she is something _else_. Danced in Brussels for a while, met Francis on a train, agreed to be co-manager of this dump if she got cushy jobs. But most of the people here have done the same old routine."

Gilbert stopped for a moment to think. "Oh! Right! The little ticket girl, Michelle. She had no experience when she came here. You should have seen her face when she got roped into this. Kind of like your reaction kid. Except with bigger eyes. And she didn't try to run. Smart girl."

"Does she have....customers?" Matthew didn't like to think of the dark haired girl, who still had such girlish features, taking men to her room. Gilbert nodded.

"Not as frequently, though. She got the same song and dance as you two when she arrived - no penetration. Francis auctioned off her virginity in the end, though. It drew a lot of money into the brothel. I think that's why he's so excited to have you and your brother. Double the money, I would think."

"A-_auction_?!" Matthew repeated, horrified. "I...._what_?"

Gilbert laughed. "Don't look so shocked," he chided. "You think Bonnefoy's being nice to you by not letting customers fuck you? Look, the men who come here don't want to be teased and don't want to pay good money to see "almost" or "barely" - they get enough of that in real life. They come here to get what they pay for, and what they pay for is fucking whores. Sure, there are the occasional weirdos who are content to feel you up and get you to suck their cocks, but most of these guys can get that at home. What they're looking for is sex, good sex, taboo sex, whatever. So don't think this isn't a business kid, because it is. Got that?"

Matthew managed to close his jaw. Of course he hadn't forgotten where he was, or what this place was. It was just easy to lull himself into a false sense of security in the daytime, when there were no customers and this just looked like a theatre.

Gilbert was watching him impassively and Matthew averted his eyes.

"I'm going to get dinner started." he muttered. Gilbert's gaze followed him as he went to the kitchen sink.

"You do that." Gilbert said, before leaving the kitchen.

Matthew had never missed his brother so terribly.

* * *

_END CHAPTER FIVE_

* * *

**Note:** This chapter was really long so I had to cut it. No sexing today, sorry!


	7. Yes, Sir

******Title:** Into the Face of the Beguiled (Chapter Six)**  
****Author:** tatterdemalion**  
****Characters:** in this chapter - Prussia, Canada, America, France, Netherlands, Seychelles, Lithuania, Spain, South Italy**  
****Rating:** M just to be safe because there's some almost-but-not-quite stuff in here D:**  
****Summary:** AU. Alfred and Matthew Jones, expert runaways and orphans, arrive in Amsterdam to make their fortune. There, they find themselves caught up in the world of cabaret, prostitution, money, and murder, and it may be too late to get out.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for all those who reviewed and I didn't get back to you! Anyways, here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy!

**

* * *

  
**Matthew and Gilbert parted ways before they reached the foyer of the theatre - the older man didn't seem too keen on being seen with Matthew, and sent him off up to Francis's office to find his brother.

Alfred threw the door open with a relieved look on his face. "Great, you're here, let's _go_." he urged, grabbing his brother's wrist and dragging him away. Francis leaned against the door frame and waved his fingers at them.

There were less patrons downstairs than last night, when the show attracted them in expectant droves. The majority of these customers looked a little shadier, a little less confident than the ones last night. They stayed near the edges of the lobby or near the entrance, nervous and antsy, as if one loud sound would send them running out the door. Somehow, their nervousness made Matthew feel a little more at ease - it was easier to be confident when the people you were scared of were just as wary.

Gilbert was already talking to one of them, an older gentleman with a rather cruel face. Matthew observed the way Gilbert stood with one side tilted towards him. It almost looked intimate. Could someone be believably intimate like that with a stranger? Matthew didn't think he ever could. Their eyes met briefly and Gilbert gave him a curt nod before his eyes flicked back to the other man. Matthew felt slighted.

Alfred eased him once again into nervous conversation as they waited to see if anyone would approach them. Matthew, irritated that he had to keep being babied by his brother like that, tried to take control of the conversation, and was so into it he didn't even notice the man a couple feet away from them until Alfred nudged him with his elbow, eyes guarded.

The man was standing casually by one of the lobby's pillars, cupping his hand around his cigarette to light it. As Matthew watched, he waved the match out, exhaled smoke and looked over at them with a consumer's eye.**  
**  
As the man surveyed them, Matthew took the chance to survey _him_. He wasn't a bad looking man, he decided, a little round in the gut, greying temples, but with a strong nose, pronounced jaw and thin lips. He had that "every man" air about him that made him look like he could be someone's husband, or father.

Not like Matthew would know anything about _fathers_.

His clothes did not reveal much about his profession or his class - decent trousers, well worn shoes, clean shirt and overcoat. He looked entirely normal and this relaxed Matthew somewhat, enough to bravely hold his gaze for a few seconds before turning his eyes to the floor.

The man said nothing; didn't greet him, didn't make conversation. Simply examined him. Like he was a product, like he was nothing to bother conversing with. This detached interest made Matthew wary and skittish of the person in front of him.

Finally, the man looked pleased. "Where is the owner?" he wanted to know (Matthew didn't want to think about how much it sounded like "_Your _owner"). He spoke in a low, gruff voice, rough from smoking or maybe from just general disuse.

Francis appeared at the man's elbow - something behind the Frenchman's eyes had shifted, though his smile remained the same.

"Welcome back, sir." he murmured softly. His eyes traveled over Alfred and Matthew. "Have you decided?"

The man nodded. "Yeah." he grunted. "How much are they?"

"Ah, _Monsieur_, it is rather distasteful to discuss money in public." Francis was wearing his crocodile smile - Matthew was starting to get nervous. "Come up to my office, and we will talk there."

He motioned for Matthew and Alfred to follow them - the brothers, like last time, stayed outside the office while the two negotiated.

When the man came out again he looked a little happier. "Your boss wants to see you." he jerked a thumb behind him. "I'll be waiting at your room."

Exchanging glances, Matthew and Alfred entered the office, closing the door behind them.

"Is something wrong?" Alfred asked as Francis moved around the office, restlessly fiddling with things.

"Ah, no." Francis straightened up. "Just, that man. He is a regular here, and he has a reputation of being quite...forceful at times. You understand? I made sure to be quite clear about how much you are allowed to do, but if he pushes you, you must be firm with him."

_That_ was comforting. Nevertheless, the brothers nodded, and Francis's face relaxed.

"Good." he smiled. "Now, my dears, go out and make your Madam some money!"

The man was waiting for them in front of their apartment, fixing his cuff links as Alfred fumbled for the key. They let him in - Matthew tried to make awkward small talk as he closed the door and took the man's coat. The window in their bedroom was still covered with a sheet.

"I'm Alfred." Matthew's brother began. "And this is Matthew. What do we call _you_, mister?"

"You can call me "sir"," the man grunted, rolling up his sleeves. Matthew glanced nervously at his brother. Alfred gave him a smile - _is this guy for real_? his eyes seemed to say.

"Strip." Sir commanded, settling down into the chaise in the corner of their bedroom. Taken aback by his curtness, the brothers only hesitated before simultaneously pulling off their shirts.

"Slower!" the man snapped - he was watching them intently, eyes hooded and dark. Matthew couldn't look at him, dropping his shirt on the floor, fingers clumsily undoing his belt. As Sir watched them, he undid the front of his own trousers, unbuttoned his shirt, leaned back on the chaise like some dangerous cat in repose.

Once Matthew was down to his underpants, he looked questioningly at the man. Sir considered them a moment.

"Touch each other." was his next command. Matthew's palms grew cold and he furrowed his brow.

"B-but - " _We're brothers..._

"I told you to do something, so _do it_." the man's voice was cold, and Matthew flinched.

"Hey, it's okay." Alfred settled his hand on his brother's shoulder. "C'mon, Mattie, just like that."

Matthew reached out, fingers brushing across the dip of Alfred's collarbone, and his brother smiled encouragingly.

"That's good. Good work." he praised softly, running his hand over Matthew's shoulder. Face burning with embarrassment, Matthew mirrored his brother's movements, moving when he moved, hands uncertain as they flitted over Alfred's torso.

Alfred's hand skimmed down the length of Matthew's arm and pulled him close, tilting their bodies so Matthew was partially hidden from the man watching them. Sir's breathing was heavy - out of the corner of his eye Matthew could see the man's hand moving languidly up and down, jerking himself off in a steady rhythm.

"You two are brothers?" Sir asked casually, breaking the heavy silence. At Alfred's nod, he continued, "Then why don't you give your brother a kiss, Alfred?"

Matthew froze. "S-sir, no..." he said weakly. His brother's expression mirrored what he felt - shocked, a little repulsed. Sir looked indifferent.

"You will do what I tell you. I paid for you, after all." he pointed out. Matthew shook his head.

"I can't, I can't..." he mumbled, averting his eyes. This was _Alfred_, this was his _brother_ - he loved his brother, but...

Alfred's lips were drawn into a thin line, and he looked over at Sir. When he met Matthew's eyes, the younger brother blinked in surprise.

"Al...?"

"Sorry, Matt." he whispered, before they were kissing, actually _kissing_, and Matthew pushed his hands flat against his brother's chest in instant repulsion, trying to shove him away.

"No!" he bit out against his brother's mouth - Alfred grabbed his upper arms, lips unmoving. He was just as upset about it as Matthew was, and though the kiss was incredibly awkward and wrong, it was unwanted on both sides, which made it a little easier to deal with. The brothers remained standing with their mouths pressed up against each other's, wondering if Sir was falling for it at all.

When they parted, the man was flushed red all over, even on the top of his beefy hand that kept moving up and down over his arousal. Matthew felt sick looking at him.

"You," Sir pointed with his free hand at Matthew. "Take off your brother's underpants and touch him."

Matthew made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Alfred, who had been willing to put up with the kiss, shook his head.

"No, no way...he's my brother, sir, that's..."

Sir stood up, a dark frown pulling his lips down. Matthew felt panicked - how long had it been since they took this man up to their room? How much had he paid for?

Alfred jumped as his hips were roughly seized - the man had come up behind him and pushed him against Matthew. He grabbed the younger boy through his underpants and tried to get him to touch Alfred. Matthew wrenched his arm away, letting out an exclamation. The brothers stumbled, as one, and Matthew fell so he was bent backwards over the couch. Alfred, with no way to balance himself, landed on top of his brother. Both of them were caught off guard with the wind knocked out of them, so it was very easy for Sir, with his larger frame, to fondle Alfred with one hand, using the other to pull down the waistband of his underpants.

"W-w-_wait_!" Matthew begged. "H-hold on, let me - !"

"Be quiet!" Sir snarled, pressing against Alfred so his pelvic bone jutted into Matthew's abdomen. Matthew wheezed. He could feel Alfred pressing heavily into his leg, and it made him seize up.

Alfred was thrashing above him, pressing Matthew painfully into the couch with each movement.

"What are you doing?!" he demanded. "Let go of me!"

Matthew couldn't see what was going on, but when he heard the sound of a zipper, and Alfred's frozen facial expression, he got a pretty good idea.

"Stop!" he started flailing under his brother. "Stop, you aren't allowed to do that! Madam said no - "

Sir gave a grunt, and pressed forward. Alfred shouted, and Matthew could see painful tears pricking in his eyes.

"Stop!" Matthew repeated. "Please, someone..."

_He has a reputation of being quite...forceful at times._

Fuck Madam and fuck this brothel and fuck _everything_ that led Matthew and Alfred to this situation. Hopeless and out of breath, Matthew could only squirm under his brother as this stranger began to press against Alfred's, with no means of preparation or patience. Alfred was grimacing now, little yips of pain slipping through his teeth, and his muscles were taut with pain and resistance. When Matthew tried to push up, Sir would push down, trapping the two boys against each other.

Matthew lashed out, aiming for the man's face, knuckles barely hitting skin (too far, he was too far away...) before he was slapped so hard his head spun.

"Keep your hands off me, you little whore." Sir snarled, and Alfred gave a louder exclamation as the man's fingers dug into his hips with the effort.

Matthew was barely aware of the door flying open - he was too busy trying to hit the man again despite the ringing in his ears.

"What, if I may ask, are you doing to my boys?" Matthew had never been so happy to hear Francis' voice, which right now was laced with menacing undertones. The man said something that he didn't catch and the pressure lifted off the two brothers, allowing them to scramble away, onto the floor. Alfred pressed himself against the chaise, shivering, while Matthew curled his body around his older brother. When he looked up the man was on the floor, swearing, one side of his face dark with blood. Francis, in all his corseted glory, had gripped in his right hand a baseball bat from which protruded several nails.

_How unglamorous_, Matthew thought sarcastically.

"You can't do that to me!" Sir was bellowing, though he quieted when Francis lifted the bat again.

"The moment you tried to force your horrific _filth_ upon my employees, I was entitled to do whatever I want. Now get out of my theatre. You are no longer welcome."

The man was reaching for his wallet. "I'll pay you." he said simply. "Whatever you want. I want those two - "

"I do not want your money." Francis sneered, features twisted.

Well, _that_ was a change. Matthew could still feel his brother shuddering slightly under his arms, though Alfred was quickly pulling himself together.

"You have insulted both me and my boys." Francis said. "Your money is no good here anymore. Get out, or I will force you out."

He hefted the bat on his shoulder and the man was quick to scramble to his feet and out the door without looking back.

Matthew let out a breath and pressed his head against Alfred's. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?" he whispered. Alfred shuddered, exhaled.

Then Francis was kneeling next to them, bat by his feet. "Alfred, stand up." his voice was firm and level - when Alfred shook his head stubbornly, Francis repeated. "Alfred, my dear, stand up. I need to see what has happened to you."

Alfred made a sound that could have been a whimper. Francis cast a look over at Matthew and together they helped prod Alfred to his feet. Matthew held his brother's hands as Francis gently examined him, acutely aware of the embarrassment of the situation.

The Frenchman breathed a sigh of relief. "You are fine. He was a brute, no? But he is not good at the, how would you say it..._aiming_."

Then he turned his attentions to Matthew, face bizarrely gentle as he asked, "Did he harm you at all?"

"N-no." Matthew said, adding after a moment, "Ah, wait, he hit me."

Francis touched Matthew's face. "Mm. I will get you some ice. Hopefully it will not bruise. Come." Francis took their elbows. "I will let you both sleep here for the night, all right? I am so sorry that you had to experience that. That man is known for his temper, yes, but he has never gotten so violent." Francis snorted. "These people, they think that just because they can wave money under our noses, they think we do not have limits. This is the problem, they do not think of us as people. Scum."

Matthew's head was spinning. Beside him Alfred was uncomfortably silent. Without his brother's usual chatter Matthew was distinctly aware of the silence and tried his best to fill it.

"Do..." he swallowed, throat dry. "Do you get a lot of customers like that?"

Francis' expression was one of pity. "You learn to take the good with the bad." he said simply. "Now, get some rest."

He urged them gently towards the bed - Alfred lay down complacently, still looking a little dazed. Matthew followed, tucking himself around his brother.

"Thank you." he said quietly. Francis' eyes softened and Matthew let the Frenchman run a quick hand through his hair.

"I do not like when my employees are tired," he said with a smile. "I will be around to check on the two of you tomorrow. If you or your brother need anything...you know where my office is, yes?"

Matthew nodded, eyes still fixed on Alfred. His older brother seemed to sense his gaze and their eyes met before Alfred gave him a strained smile.

"Night, Matt." he said.

Francis had left before Matthew had even realized it and the younger one gripped his brother's hand.

"Night, Al." he echoed.

_It's my turn to protect **you**, now_.

* * *

"Rise and shine, princess! Up we go!"

That was the first thing Matthew heard, loudly in his ear, accompanied by someone giving him a hard shake.

"Umf." was all he managed to get out before he was prodded again. Beside him, Alfred rolled onto his stomach, throwing a heavy arm over his younger brother's back.

"Ah, cute." came the voice. "The brotherly love almost makes me want to vomit. Oi, Dutchie, help me out here."

"Do you have to call me that?" the covers were pulled off the bed and the brothers let out twin exclamations of displeasure.

"Fuck off~f." Alfred drawled into his pillow. Matthew let his eyes flutter open against the brightness of the room.

"_I_ don't recall ever getting to sleep in when I first started working here." Gilbert said disparagingly, standing over Matthew's side of the bed, covers in hand. Beside him stood the tall Dutchman, Lars. Matthew made a half-hearted grab for the elusive blankets. Gilbert held them above his head. Well, damn.

"Five more minutes?" Matthew pleaded. Alfred made a snorting noise and curled sideways, pressing into his little brother's hip.

"What is this, a hotel?" Gilbert sneered. "C'mon, get up! And don't give me any bullshit about you having a rough night, kid, I can tell you stories that'll make your night seem like a walk in the park - "

"All right, macho man, you've had your fun." Lars butted in, annoyance audible in his voice. "Give him some space. If you're nattering in his ear how's he supposed to wake up?"  
**  
**Gilbert grumbled and walked out of Matthew's vision. Moments later, banging started up in another part of the apartment. Matthew feared for their kitchen.

Lars crouched down beside the bed, running a hand through his spiked up hair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Ignore that idiot, he's been here so long he's forgotten what it feels like to be new. Madam didn't tell us everything but most of us are smart enough to guess. Did that man do anything to you?"

Tiredly, Matthew raised himself up on his elbows and shook his head.

"Luckily Madam was there to help us." he confessed. "I was scared, though. I couldn't do anything, it was awful..."

Lars worriedly reached out to rub his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay." he soothed. "You're getting that panicky look in your eyes."

Matthew flushed and apologized, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Alfred grumbled something unintelligible. Matthew shook him with an exasperated sigh.

"Come on Al, seriously. If Gilbert comes back and you're not up he's going to hassle us again."

"I feel like shi~it." Alfred groaned. "Tell him to come back later."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Okay yeah, sure, I'll tell him that."

Lars was still looking at him as if he was afraid Matthew was going to have a breakdown - irritated, Matthew stood up, tangled his feet in the discarded blanket on the floor, and toppled into the Dutchman's arms.

"Whoa, you okay?" Lars fussed over him as Gilbert stepped back into the bedroom with a fistful of clothing.

The look on the older man's face was curious - sort of a mixture between irritation and another emotion Matthew didn't want to place. Bracing himself against Lars's arms and muttering an apology, he let out an exclamation as Gilbert threw his clothes at him.

"Get dressed." the pale haired man bit out. "I'm not waiting around for you two anymore."

Lars let go of Matthew's arms with a grimace twisting the corner of his mouth. Matthew was sufficiently confused, stooping to pick up his clothes from the floor. When he straightened up, Gilbert had left and Lars was staring at the doorway, arms crossed.

"...What's going on?" he asked. Lars's smile was strained.

"I'll stay here and wait for your brother to wake up," the Dutchman motioned to the bed, where Alfred was evidentially out cold again, snoring gently into his pillow. "You get dressed and go after Gilbert. He'll be in the theatre, you'll find him."

Reluctantly (he didn't want to go after Gilbert if the man was angry!), Matthew agreed. He changed quickly, made a fresh pot of coffee for Alfred when he woke up, and was out the door.

He found Gilbert backstage, painting a canvas backdrop with sharp, angry strokes. Matthew nervously cleared his throat, wincing when Gilbert shoved a paintbrush at him and instructed him to help him with the undercoat.

"We're doing a fucking Greek tragedy this time," he informed the younger boy. "Bonnefoy wants some sort of graveyard or something. I don't know."

"A - all right." there was silence, before Matthew asked, "Is everything okay? Are you mad?"

Gilbert ground the bristles of his brush into the canvas, working his jaw. "No." he said finally. "I'm tired."

"Oh." Matthew worked on covering the canvas evenly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, kid!" Gilbert snapped. "It's not...really your fault. Okay? Now paint."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Matthew complied.  
**  
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**Alfred had woken up to find an irritable Dutchman in his kitchen - Lars had told him to get dressed and hustled him out of the apartment with a sympathetic look. He stopped by Francis' office, where the Frenchman asked after his health in a bizarrely caring way.

"I'm fine." Alfred told him stiffly, "As long as that son of a bitch doesn't come anywhere near me ever again."

With a casual look behind his chair, where the bat full of nails rested, Francis sighed, "I don't think he will be a problem anymore. Now, _mon cher_, I still need you to go to work, all right? But if you have any problems, let me know. _d'accord_?"

Alfred nodded obediently and Francis smiled. "How nice you have been lately!" he gushed. "If you would go help Michelle outside? I will let you know if I find anymore jobs for you to do. Don't forget tonight we have a rehearsal!"

Alfred (much to his brother's annoyance), prided himself on carrying on despite everything. When he crossed across the lobby, cool and a little shadowy in the early morning, it took effort not to wrap his arms around himself. By the time he saw Michelle loitering by the entrance with a sunny smile, it was easy for Alfred to manipulate his grin to match hers. Bright, cheerful. Strong. For his brother, for himself.

Ten minutes later Alfred found himself outside the theatre, broom in hand. "I've gotta go do paperwork!" Michelle had told him with an apologetic giggle, which Alfred knew meant she would be sitting on the catwalk with Xiu Mei, talking and sharing a snack until someone noticed they were missing. She had left him all alone to sweep the steps and the surrounding sidewalk, dodging people as he went.

The only warning Alfred got was a soft inhalation before he found his broom sweeping over someone's shoes. With an apology on his tongue, he looked up into the apprehensive face of Toris, the brunet from a few days ago.

Alfred couldn't help it. Something about seeing the man again, despite his circumstances, made him break out into a grin that was anything but forced.

"Hey, Toris! How are you?"

Toris' face blanched. "Fine!" he exclaimed, startled by Alfred's sudden enthusiasm. "I'm, I'm fine. How are you, Alfred?"

Alfred shrugged, leaning on his broom. "I've been better." he said simply.

Toris shifted nervously from foot to foot. He had promised himself, after the fiasco with Alfred, that he would never come back to _Enjôler_, and initially it was a very easy promise to keep - work, his brothers, the upkeep of their house, all kept him very busy. But then the idleness of nighttime would set in and Toris would catch a glimpse in the mirror of the fading marks on his back and feel an itch to go back.

At first it had been his daily walks that steadily led him closer to the theatre - he had finally decided that there was no harm in walking past the building itself, at least in the daytime. Toris furrowed his brow. He was wrong.

"So what are you doing here?" Alfred asked, adding, "We're closed now, but I guess you knew that...?"

"I know." Toris blurted out before he could stop himself. "I was just...in the neighbourhood."

"In the neighbourhood?" Alfred repeated incredulously with a quick glance around the street. "Toris, no offence, but if you live around here, you should really consider a move..."

Toris flushed red. "I don't live around _here_." he replied quickly. "I, uhm - I go for walks to clear my head and I guess since I know this area well, I - n-not that I come here all the time, I'm not that sort of person, but - !"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, I know, it's okay. I was teasing you, Toris. Sorry."

"Oh." Awkwardly, Toris fiddled with a few strands of hair that fell over his ear.

Alfred cleared his throat, looked down at the broom he was leaning on. "So..." he said around the same time as Toris said, "Uh..."

They apologized at the same time as well. Cheeks burning, Toris took a hesitant step backwards. "Well I guess I'd better get going." he said in a rush. "I promised my brothers I'd be home for dinner."

Alfred's face looked almost sad. "Okay." he said, then hesitated. "Hey, Toris...if you're ever in the neighbourhood again...you should stop by and say hello."  
**  
**Toris couldn't help but smile. "I will." he promised. "Goodbye, Alfred."

"Bye, Toris." Alfred lifted his hand and waved as the brunet continued on down the street, colour in his face, clutching the elbows of his suit nervously. Alfred felt a warm affection towards the brunet, who remained the only customer of this theatre Alfred actually didn't mind.

He turned back towards the theatre in time to see an unfamiliar man stepping up to the front doors, humming to himself.

"Uh...'scuse me!" Alfred called - the man turned to look at him. He had a thick head of curly brown hair and bright green eyes, and was dressed in a way that suggested he was of more upper class status.

"Hello!" he exclaimed.

"Hey." Warily, Alfred dragged his broom after him. "Mm, we're closed right now, so..."

"Ah, are you new?" the man asked, looking him over in a bright, cheerful way that did not seem at all lecherous - only enthusiastic. "You are so cute! Such lovely hair - Francis hasn't had new employees in so long!" the man had dissolved into a gushing speech, actually reaching forward to touch Alfred's hair. Alfred could only stand there open mouthed.

"Uh." he said. "What?"

Pressing a hand to his cheek, the brunet chirped, "I'm Antonio! I'm a patron here. I haven't seen you around before so I guess you don't know, but I'm here to visit Lovino!"

Tucked under Antonio's arm was a parcel, wrapped in brown paper. Alfred eyed him curiously. "Are you allowed to see him in the daytime?" he asked. "I don't think anyone's allowed in when we're closed..."

Antonio nodded. "I have a present for him." he said with a happy sigh. His voice carried the breezy lilt of a Spanish accent. "He always looks so cute in all the clothes I get him that I always wind up bringing him more!"

Alfred, who had only seen Lovino wearing elaborate dresses, wondered if that was the cause of the Italian's surliness.

"Uh, sure. Okay. If you're sure you're allowed in." he said finally.

Antonio thanked him and moved with ease past the front doors - after a moment, Alfred propped his broom up against the side of the theatre and followed. He had seen Lovino treat everyone employed under Bonnefoy - and even the Frenchman himself! - with an attitude ranging from mild displeasure to full frontal irritation. He couldn't imagine anyone, especially such a well-dressed, pleasant looking man, coming to see Lovino of their own free will.

Lovino was in the theatre somewhere - Alfred could tell because when the two men entered the large hall they could hear the Italian's voice bouncing around up in the rafters. Lovino was shouting quite rudely about his petticoats being tangled while several people milled hesitantly around on stage, looking up to where Alfred assumed the Italian was traversing the catwalk. When Alfred glanced over at Antonio in time to see the Spaniard's face softened into an endearing expression.

"Lovino~!" Antonio called in the stillness of the theatre and Lovino instantly stopped talking.

"Oh fuck, is that bastard here?" Lovino asked, sounding angry and bitter but also sort of nervous. "Antonio, I'm working, go away!"

"Come down, I have something for you!" Antonio persisted, paying no mind to the Italian's authoritative tone.

There was silence, then: "You better be quick about it, bastard." Lovino shouted down sulkily. Amazed, Alfred could only stand with the cheerful Antonio as Lovino laboriously started down the ladder from the catwalk.

"...Is he always like that?" Alfred asked. Maybe he had just missed another side of Lovino, one that was...nicer.

"Pretty much." Antonio said. "Sometimes he's in a bad mood."

Alfred didn't really want to know what _that_ looked like.

Lovino was red-faced from more than just the climb down as he approached Antonio. The Spaniard held his arms open, then ducked laughingly as Lovino took a swing at him.

"You always come when I'm the busiest." the Italian complained. "What do you want?"

Antonio held the parcel up in front of him, proudly. "I brought you a gift." he said cheerfully. Lovino's face drained of colour before rapidly heating up.

"Y - " Lovino's hands curled into fists by his side as he eyed the package. "It better be a nice colour!" he reluctantly grumbled, snatching it from Antonio's hands. Antonio nodded enthusiastically, one hand reaching forward to ruffle the younger man's hair. Lovino slapped him away in frustration, undoing the twine with nimble fingers. Alfred simply watched in the background.

Lovino pulled from the package a beautifully ruffled green dress with peaked sleeves and delicate neckline. Antonio waited expectantly with a stupid grin on his face.

"....Whatever." Lovino snapped, pulling the dress close to him. "Thanks, I guess. It's a nice colour."

"I know!" Antonio exclaimed, moving to embraced Lovino before the Italian hurriedly dodged. "That's what I thought, when I saw it in the store!"

Antonio didn't stay long, though he was undeterred by Lovino's brusque reactions to him. Finally he said he had to go do some errands and, somehow managing to wrap an arm around Lovino and kiss him on the cheek, said goodbye to Alfred and left the theatre.

When Alfred turned back, the Italian was holding the dress at arm's length, usually harsh face relaxed into some semblance of fondness.

"Who was that?" Alfred asked, and Lovino's face twisted up again.

"None of your business!" he snapped, adding after a few seconds, "That was my patron, Antonio. Some rich businessman."

"Oh..." Alfred trailed off, recalling Francis's words. "Is he the one who reserved you?"

"Yeah." Lovino answered, busy folding the dress. "That's him. He's an idiot, isn't he? Must not get many girls, which is probably why he hangs around here all the time."

"So you really like wearing dresses, huh?" Alfred joked, to which Lovino turned and snapped, "Don't be stupid, I _hate_ it."

"Then why - "

Lovino coloured. "Bonnefoy made me wear one once and I never wanted to again. But Antonio saw me in it and liked it and he'd always buy me one when he went away. W-which is stupid because I never asked him to!"

"Then why don't you tell him you don't want them?" Alfred wanted to know. Lovino fumed.

"B-because he always says I look cute in them," he blurted out, "and I'm supposed to make him happy, right?! Why should I even care, dammit!"

Lovino whirled around in a cloud of skirts and stalked off before Alfred even had time to respond. The blond was left standing there, bewildered, until Matthew found him.

"Hey, Al, let's go, we have work to do!" his brother urged him. Fixing his glasses, Alfred peered at him, mulling over his recent conversation.

"Hey Matt, if someone thought you looked nice in a dress and wanted you to wear one all the time, would you?"

Matthew, who had long since gotten used to his brother's random and often asinine questions, considered this.

"Only if I really liked them, I guess." he said.

"That's what I thought." Alfred shrugged, and wouldn't answer any of Matthew's subsequent questions.**  
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END CHAPTER SIX

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****Author's Note:** I accidentally wrote "Author's Boat" and felt I had to share that with you D: I wish I had a boat.**  
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